#and no one is convincing me harrow has been lifting enough in ANY au to use some of that OR equipment

[deus3xmachinablog]

i see y’all out here with your “Harrowhark Nonagesimus, MD, Chief of Orthopedic Surgery” and. let me just say. leaving aside the fact that No One, regardless of pedigree or skill, is granted a faculty appointment in leadership over a surgical subspecialty in their twenties (because even with some manner of Doogie Howser situation you wouldn’t be done TRAINING to CERTIFY in a surgical subspecialty until your 30s in the US or your 20s elsewhere)... you are all, all of you, sleeping on the Superior Choice of Medical Subspecialty for Harrow:

one in which Absolutely Nobody outside her field understands her work, and most other doctors think she’s at least a little bit weird.

The medical equivalent of subspecializing in Arcane High Magic:

Harrow is a Rheumatologist

[fallinnflower]

(you’re my) home

seungkwan x reader (exes to lovers!au, angst, fluff)

a/n: this took far longer than i thought it would, but i hope i did seungkwan justice! title is taken from the lyrics of “home,” of course~ thanks @wangtuanian​ as always for listening to me when i’m throwing ideas at the wall. in the editing stages this was referred to as “like a slow burn but worse,” so... yeah, happy reading!

wc: 9,086

August 29

“So, you’re saying you want to break up?”

“Well, I mean — yeah. I just don’t think I can do distance. And if we break up while you’re abroad and end up hating each other…”

“It’ll be awkward.”

“Right.”

“Right. Okay. Then let’s break up, Seungkwan.”

December 25

It was only two days after that conversation with Seungkwan that you boarded a plane for Canada. Despite the content of the conversation, your attitudes remained the same — he still tacked a heart onto the last text message you received before your plane rose off the tarmac, and he was still one of the first people you messaged once you had settled into your dorms. Although over the months you fell out of sync and out of contact (at least, in comparison to how you used to be — attached at the hip), you found yourself always thinking of Seungkwan. With your morning coffee, at your evening meal, on a walk to campus; your first love was in everything you did, and it took weeks for you to fall out of the habit of sending him a picture of every little thing that made you think of him. 

When his name popped up on your screen for FaceTime calls, there was still a heart next to his name. Sometimes you almost slipped up and said you loved him when he bid you goodnight, and instead you would settle for ‘sweet dreams,’ tucking yourself into bed and wrapping your arms around a pillow like you used to do him. 

And in December, when you descended the escalators in the bustling airport, there was still one familiar face you found yourself searching for, the same way you’d found yourself asking him for a ride when there were plenty of other friends with cars you could have contacted. Old habits die hard, you know it the moment you see him and your heart still skips a beat, legs itching to run to him, unseen forces drawing you ever nearer to the only boy you’ve ever loved—

You take a deep breath, smile coolly and wave from the bottom of the escalators to get his attention. His eyes light up for a moment when he sees you, then fade back to their usual sparkle, as if seeing you struck his heart like a match. He waits for you to make your way to him, and yet when you stand directly before him neither of you knows where to put your hands, your eyes, your words.

“Hey,” he says, eventually, dark eyes boring into yours. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.” After a moment of deliberation, you both find yourself moving towards each other, your hand leaving the handle of your suitcase hesitantly, blood buzzing to be near him.

The sudden sound of the conveyor belt behind Seungkwan startles you both into stillness, and the both of you revert back to your previous positions, maintaining the distance between you.

“Is it, um— are you still using the purple suitcase?” Seungkwan asks, taking your carry-on from you and wheeling it towards the belt. 

“Yeah,” you say. He nods. The two of you stand side by side, eyes glued to the rotating carousel of luggage, waiting for the suitcase you’ve had since high school to come rolling by. The moment it does, Seungkwan lunges forward to grab it, taking hold of both of your suitcases as you follow him out of the terminal to his car.

Without thinking, you snag the aux cord as Seungkwan pulls out of the garage, but falter as you go to plug your phone in.

“Oh, um, did you want to play anything?” You ask, still holding onto the plug. Seungkwan shakes his head too fast,

“No, no, it’s fine. Go ahead.”

Your newest favorite song fills the car, and you shift your gaze out the window. Watching the bustling streets pass you by, you somehow feel foreign. With Seungkwan sitting beside you, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel, all you feel is the heavy weight of the silence, a burden you haven’t shouldered since before the two of you started dating. After a few anxious seconds spent at a red light, you find yourself huffing a breath out through your nose and pressing skip on your phone until you get to a song you know Seungkwan knows.

But even with his humming accompanying the tune, the overbearing awkwardness still speaks volumes. 

December 31

“Are you coming to Seungcheol’s party?” Soonyoung asks. You cradle your phone between your shoulder and ear, shoving your freshly washed clothing into the dryer. You hadn’t thought about how much laundry you’d have to do after being gone for a semester, but you’re glad you have the break to do it. 

“I don’t know,” you say. “Should I?” 

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he isn’t even thinking twice about the one person who gives you pause every second of every minute of every day. 

“We haven’t hung out in forever, Y/N. Come on!”

“Soonyoung…” You shove the dryer door closed and pass your free hand through your hair. “I just— I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“But we’re gonna do the countdown and everything! Josh even promised he’d make us some American food!” 

After a long moment, you let out a sigh.

“Fine.”

“Good! We’ll come get you at 7.”

“We?”

“Bye!”

“Soonyoung—!”

You check the time once you notice he’s hung up, frowning when you realize you only have a little over an hour to get ready but also get your laundry back upstairs before Soonyoung and whoever the hell else comes to drag you to Seungcheol’s.

If you’re honest, you’re not really in the partying spirit. You’re exhausted from cleaning your room and reorganizing all your things, catching up on sleep and readjusting to Korean time. All you want to do is lie around like a rock, but Soonyoung is right — it’s been a long time since you’ve seen your friends. For what it’s worth, you do miss them, but the drive back to your apartment with Seungkwan was a harrowing reminder of the time you’ve been gone and the changes that the passing sands brought. You just aren’t sure you’re ready to face all those changes head-on.

Nonetheless, you don a party-worthy outfit and attempt to put some care into your makeup, though the effort is exhausting enough that by the time you’re done you can’t be bothered to mess around much with your hair. You drag your fingers through it until it looks decent, then shove on a pair of slippers to go get your laundry. As you make your way back up, you think you have half a mind to just wear them to the party — who cares, after all? You’ll probably end up crashing on a couch and getting a ride back from Cheol in the morning. 

Or Seungkwan, a little voice in the back of your mind nags. You kick your apartment door open and then closed behind you, shaking your head to get the thoughts away. It hasn’t even been a week since you’d been home; a week since the evening you forced yourself to change his contact in your phone back to the bland ‘seungkwan’ it had been when you’d first saved his number. Somehow, it’s both too easy and too difficult to think about him; he’s too much and too often in your life and not enough, never enough.

When Soonyoung comes to get you, you realize the ‘we’ he was referring to is just Minghao, Jun, and Chan. You try to convince yourself you aren’t disappointed, but you’ve never been good at lying. Nonetheless, you manage to crack a genuine smile once smushed in the backseat between Jun and Chan, arms and legs all crammed together. As the music rumbles around you and out the cracked-open windows, you promise yourself that tonight, you’re going to have fun. 

By ten minutes to midnight, you’re on your third drink (some fruity, overly sweet concoction courtesy of a tipsy Hansol) and the party is in full swing. Soonyoung has taken charge of the music, all wall-shaking bass and beats that make your body want to move. You’re not much of a dancer, but you’ve got enough alcohol in you that you allow Junhui to pull you into the living room, mimicking his actions and frequently dissolving into fits of laughter when you realize how awkward and gangly your movements are in comparison to the lithe, graceful Chinese boy. Any stumbles simply make you laugh harder, quickly shifting from tipsy territory into drunkenness. The alcohol sloshes around in your half-emptied cup, and you feel suddenly very tired as the current song fades into the next. You make your way to one of the couches, dropping heavily down next to the party’s host and unceremoniously plop your head down on his shoulder. He reaches up to sloppily pat your hair, and you swat the offending strands away from your lips and the places where they stick to the sweat on your face. 

“Yah, Hoshi! Turn the music down, it’s almost midnight!” You cringe at the loudness of Seungcheol’s voice and lift your head from its perch on his shoulder. You run a hand through your hair, smoothing it down. 

“Five!” Joshua calls, emerging from the kitchen with a few of the other partygoers. The TV’s display is now taken up by a large slideshow of numbers. 

“Four!” you yell along with everyone else. Unthinking, your eyes search for the source of one familiar voice—

“Three!”

He’s standing on the opposite side of the room, flanked by Hansol and Seokmin, Soonyoung standing behind the trio with his hands on Hansol’s shoulders, squeezing at each tick of the second hand. Seungkwan’s gaze flits towards you, and for a moment his eyes catch yours and he turns his head. It’s almost purposeful, and you swear you see him turning his body in your direction until Soonyoung yells again, startling both of you. 

“Two!” 

A girl you don’t recognize under the current influence approaches Cheol, pulls him off the couch with a beaming, fond smile. You think you must have seen her before. Or maybe you just recognize that adoring look—

“One!”

It’s rude, you know you shouldn’t stare, but you don’t even realize your eyes are glued to them until the music kicks back up and Seungcheol is pulling away from this girl, only to cradle her in his arms. You press your fingertips to your lips, and suddenly you feel very far away. Just a year ago in this same space you’d stolen Seungkwan’s first kiss of the new year, and now you can’t even get him to properly look in your direction. 

You leave your cup on the coffee table and head for the bathroom, unable to walk straight and yet attempting to remain discreet. 

You don’t feel sick, but you still lower yourself to the ground near the toilet bowl. You close the lid and rest your arms atop it, dropping your face into the pit they create. The fluorescent light above your head buzzes, and the sickly sweet smell of alcohol comes wafting back up into your nose, tears stinging your eyes. 

You tell yourself it’s sweat beading down your cheeks, your chin, falling onto the toilet seat. You tell yourself so even as you watch the mascara-blackened pond grow ever wider within the white plastic valley between your arms. 

Three knocks interrupt the bass dropping out in the living room. 

“Y/N?” A soft voice calls. 

“Hannie?” you reply, voice cracking, breaths heavy. 

“Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“No,” you sniff. You aren’t sure which question you’re answering. There’s a pause, you hear his weight shift momentarily onto one of the creaky floorboards right near the door in the hallway. 

“I’m coming in.” He opens the door just enough for his slender body to slip through, gently lowering himself onto his knees beside you. He reaches over your hunched back to rip a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll, carefully dabbing under your eyes with a corner. You look up to the ceiling as he wipes at the mascara smudged below your lash line. When he throws the paper in the trash, you rock forward, pressing the crown of your head against his collarbone. 

“Tired?” You feel more than hear the words as they rumble up from his chest. You hum in the affirmative, and Jeonghan smooths a hand down along your spine. 

“Okay. Come on. I’ll drive you home.” You realize then that Jeonghan’s breath smells like juice. He helps you up from the floor, your knees aching from the cold tile. He wraps his hand around yours, guiding you as though you’re a child through the crowd, and you find your eyes searching, always searching. 

You catch a glimpse of Seungkwan mid-laugh, eyes shut and head tilted back. Your eyes remain glued to him, and even when he disappears from your field of view the image of him burns behind your eyelids.

“Jeonghan,” you start, watching his hands as he ties his shoes, unable to look away. 

“Hm?”

“Do you think he misses me?” Jeonghan stands up and sighs, running a hand through his hair. Your eyes follow his movement belatedly. He reaches out to smooth your hair down, looking at you with what you think is pity. It feels the same as the way your mother looked at you when you told her Seungkwan ended things. 

“I’m not the person to ask, Y/N. Now, come on.”

“Do you think he still loves me?” you ask as he pulls you out the door by your wrist. “Do you— do you think he ever loved me?” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Jeonghan sighs your name and pulls the sleeves of his sweater down over his hand, dabbing gently at your cheeks.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” You nod wordlessly, a lump in your throat making it hard to even breathe, let alone tell Jeonghan that home feels far beyond your reach now, just the same as Seungkwan is. That home isn’t home without him, not when you can only fill the lingering dip on the other side of your bed with your spare pillow and dream you hear a heartbeat where you rest your head. 

With that, Jeonghan pulls you out the front door and into the night. If he notices the fresh tear tracks on your cheeks when he sees you to your door, he doesn’t comment on it beyond his lingering hug and the gentle motions of his hand patting down your hair. 

You wipe away your makeup and brush the taste of alcohol off of your teeth, but each time you close your eyes you still see Seungkwan laughing behind your eyes, too far for you to reach.

January 1

More than a physical hangover, you wake up feeling emotionally dehydrated. Beyond that, you just feel plain stupid — you agreed with Seungkwan when he suggested breaking up, so why are you taking this so hard? It’s not even like he was kissing someone else to ring in the new year, you were just getting jealous of the ghost of yourself, a you that you willingly killed off.

There are a few messages waiting for you when you finally manage to reach your phone. One is from Jeonghan urging you to drink plenty of water when you wake up with his usual teasing of your drunkenness, there are a few in the groupchat that are mostly people asking if other partygoers had seen this or that forgotten object, and then beneath all of those is a short thread from Seungkwan. It appears to have come through right after you left the party, and you wish you could say you hesitated before opening it.

< hey, did you leave already? 

< nvm jeonghan said you weren’t feeling well… feel better!

< happy new year, y/n. 

You read the messages over and over, searching for something between the lines. How is it that mere months apart have made Seungkwan into an enigma all over again? You kick your sheets off impatiently and practically jump out of bed, itching to move but with no clear plan in mind. 

Despite the frigid morning air, you find yourself wanting to go out. The streets are nearly deserted, most people sporting hangovers in the comfort of their beds, and you feel drawn to the streets below. 

Your fingers are typing before you really think about what you’re doing.

happy new year! sorry for the late reply. hope you had fun at the party!! >

With the text sent, you shove your phone into your coat pocket and propel yourself out the door, breathing the frosty air in deeply. It’s cold enough that it burns down your throat, but when you exhale you feel cleaner, somehow, than you did before.

One of the many things you missed while studying abroad was your favorite cafe. You’ve been frequenting it since you started attending university, as it’s just around the corner from your complex and on the way to your campus. You wouldn’t say it’s a hole in the wall or hidden gem, because plenty of students frequent it, but it’s generally very laid-back because of its popularity amongst students. The front is all glass, with bar-style seating set up against the windows so you can look out into the sidewalk and dark wood floors that make it feel small in a cozy way. You’ve always been a fan of window seats, so you can look up when an assignment gets to be too much and catch a glimpse of the street, or the sky, and feel a little less overwhelmed and boxed in by life.

You’d taken Seungkwan here on one of your first ‘dates’ — unofficial, back in the early days when you were more acquaintances via mutual friends than friends yourselves, just getting to know each other and toeing the lines of the other’s boundaries. Your relationship blossomed due to a shared class in your major; he needed your help to pass it and you had suggested this cafe as a workspace. You can still remember it, the early-fallen autumn leaves crunching beneath your feet as you walked with him from campus down an already familiar street. Seungkwan had followed you dutifully — he was still so bashful, then, funny but holding himself back from saying too much, looking down more often than he was looking into your eyes. 

You still order the same drink almost every time, something Seungkwan often teased you for once you started dating. The fact that there were all these options and you always chose the same thing, never straying — you simply told him that you knew what you liked, and your obvious flirtation always got a reaction out of him no matter how often you said it. 

The cafe is emptier than usual, so you get your choice of seat; you move immediately to the open barstools with your drink and a muffin for breakfast, settling yourself in to watch the city wake up. You pull your laptop out of your bag, hoping that the familiar space will get you back into the familiar rhythm of work.

Looking up from typing in your password, you let out a scoff. Maybe this place is too familiar, because you swear you see Seungkwan at the crosswalk on the corner, coming this way. How pathetic, really, that you can’t seem to get him out of your mind—

The door opens, a gust of winter wind entering the shop, and as it does you instinctively turn to see who’s entered, heart nearly stopping at the familiar face that greets you.

“Seungkwan,” you say, without really meaning to. You hardly realize you’ve said it aloud until his wide, curious eyes meet yours.

“Y/N!” He chirps, grinning broadly at you. Your heart skips the same beat it always used to, and you can’t help but smile back. The two of you simply continue to stare at each other, wondering what to do about your current situation, and it isn’t until someone slips out the door behind Seungkwan that he finally startles back into action.

“Oh, um — is anyone sitting there?” He asks, nodding towards the barstool beside you. You shake your head, moving your bag off the seat.

“No, feel free.”

“Great, just— I’ll order and be right back,” he says, and you think you must be imagining the slight waver in his voice before he turns towards the counter. You force yourself to turn back to your work as he orders, willing yourself to stop lingering the way you have been for the past twelve hours. After a few minutes, you get so absorbed in your to-do list that you almost forget you have company until you hear the legs of the stool beside you being pulled across the floor, and a glass coming into contact with the counter.

“You still order the same thing?” he asks, a teasing edge to his voice. You take a look at his drink and raise one eyebrow. 

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, “You order that like ninety percent of the time.”

“And the other ten percent of the time, I try new things,” he says, sitting up proudly. You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to your laptop.

“As if anything is new here. We’ve been coming here for, what, two years? You must’ve tried everything on the menu by now.” 

“They have seasonal drinks,” he says, a little less convincingly, bringing his drink up to his lips. You hum noncommittally, unable to keep the smug grin off your face knowing you’ve won this time. Early in the relationship, the two of you had kept score of who got the last word in all your silly non-arguments, usually to determine who was paying for the next date. After a while, the number got too high to keep track of, and you found a better system to pay with. You find that your fingers have come to a standstill hovering over your keyboard, and you reach for your drink in an attempt to return yourself to normalcy. Thankfully, if Seungkwan notices your weird behavior, he doesn’t comment on it.

“So, how was the party after I left? What did I miss?” you ask, keeping your eyes on your screen. You know that if you look too long at Seungkwan it will feel like looking at the sun, and you can’t afford to be blinded right as the semester is beginning. Seungkwan lets out a little groan at your question, leaning heavily onto his elbows.

“Well, other than Mingyu almost ruining the living room carpet because he can’t hold onto a bowl to save his life, nothing.” You can’t help but giggle.

“What was it this time?”

“Salsa,” Seungkwan says, giving you a particularly disbelieving look. For a moment you hold his gaze, trying to mimic it, but it isn’t long before you both burst into laughter. A familiar warmth spreads throughout your whole body, and you feel the tension you’ve been harboring since you boarded the plane back to Korea finally slip off your shoulders. 

“Seungcheol would’ve killed him,” you say, shaking your head as you try to imagine the chaos that would have ensued, but Seungkwan merely purses his lips and takes another sip of his drink before replying.

“No,” he says. “It would’ve been Joshua, Seungcheol was too busy with his new girlfriend.” 

“Oh,” you start, leaning in conspiratorially. “Are they official, now?” Seungkwan lets out another groan, rolling his eyes.

“They would be, if he would actually ask her! He keeps saying he’s too nervous, he’s not sure what she’s going to say, but they’re so obvious about everything.” 

“As expected from Cheol,” you muse, shrugging lightly and sipping on your drink. “Maybe I should have a talk with him.” 

“Maybe we—” By some miracle, you cut yourself off before making your offer. You turn your gaze from Seungkwan so he won’t read the thoughts behind your eyes, stirring the straw in your drink as calmly as you can. 

“Maybe that’ll help. Light a fire under his ass.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan laughs, and you realize with the force of it that he’s already heard the words you didn’t speak, maybe he almost spoke them himself. “Maybe.”

How foolish it would’ve been, you think, how ironic if you’d suggested a double date for Seungcheol when there’s not even a date to invite him to double on. To imply that the two of you would be of any help getting Cheol into a relationship, like you aren’t the poster children for dating disasters right now. Suddenly, the silence of the city irks you, digs under your skin, and all you want is for the espresso machine behind the counter to whir back to life so you have something, anything to distract you. You’ve lost the rhythm with Seungkwan and you know, somehow, as you take a sip of your iced coffee and stare determinedly out the window, you won’t be able to find it again in this conversation. 

A phone buzzes against the countertop. You don’t even bother to turn yours over, as Seungkwan is already picking his up hurriedly. He glanced up at you nervously, free hand already reaching back for his coat where it hangs off the chair. 

“I forgot Hansol wanted to go shopping today,” he explains. You smile coolly, 

“Ah, I see. Don’t let him spend too much.” Seungkwan laughs weakly, watered down as he yanks his coat on in a rush. You remember when every movement was stalled, simply to linger together — 'accidentally' tying a shoelace wrong and undoing the whole thing to tie it all over again, just to hear the other’s teasing remarks for a few more moments before you really have to go — and although the atmosphere was less than comfortable you still feel his absence acutely as he finishes buttoning up his coat. He takes his cup into one hand and pushes the barstool back into place. 

“See you later, Y/N.”

“See you.”

After a few moments, Seungkwan is merely a silhouette in a crowd of others just like him, and you can almost convince yourself you imagined the whole meeting in your head. You glance at your untouched muffin and, after a long moment of losing yourself in your own silence, rip off a large chunk. 

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the sweetness coats your mouth. Your heart aches, hungering for something else which you refuse to name, and you distract yourself with work. 

January 4

Ever since the party, Jeonghan has been checking up on you. Not that he hadn’t before, because he’s always been the mothering type, but his efforts had doubled since you’d had your breakdown. 

The two of you are both particularly avid coffee drinkers, so any time a new cafe is opening you’re often the first in your circle of friends to check it out — the unofficial reviewers. Just such a cafe happened to be opening on the weekend before your classes start up again, and it’s a no-brainer that you’re going.

Saturday rolls around and you make your way to the apartment Jeonghan shares with Seungcheol and Joshua. The way is familiar; before studying abroad you could be found at their apartment almost every weekend, curled up on the couch beside Seungkwan as you all watched some stupid movie. 

Now it’s morning, edging onto the afternoon as you make your way up the stairs of their building. When you knock on the door it’s Seungcheol that greets you, hair still damp from his shower and eyes droopy with sleep. 

“Good morning, Cheol,” you say, ruffling up his hair teasingly. He chuckles and steps aside, shaking his hair out as he lets you into the apartment.

“Jeonghan is still in the shower. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “I’ve been up for hours, unlike all of you.” You shrug your coat off, hanging it by the door as you toe off your shoes. Seungcheol drops himself heavily onto the couch and you follow him, though you sit down less sprawlingly. No sooner do you take a seat than his phone buzzes, and you see his face light up when he reads the notification.

“Is that her?” you ask, shuffling across the couch cushions. “The girl from the party?” Seungcheol’s cheeks redden at such a fast pace that you know you’re right, and you can’t help but laugh. You nudge him with your elbow and then commence poking at his ribs playfully when he lifts his arm in an attempt to push you away.

“Stop,” he whines, trying to push your hands away, but the two of you dissolve into laughter soon enough, flopping back against the cushions. Seungcheol stares wistfully up at the ceiling, letting out a sigh.

“I really like her,” he says, softly. 

“So I’ve heard,” you say. “I hear she likes you, too. Why haven’t you asked her out yet, huh?” Seungcheol presses his lips into a thin line and shrugs. You remember that feeling, the constant uncertainty regardless of how much you flirt or how many dates you’ve been on, unofficial or otherwise; the constant nagging feeling and question: do they actually like me? Or is it all in my head?

You pat his shoulder, getting his attention.

“Hey,” you start softly. “Listen, Cheol, you have to take a chance. You’ll regret it if you don’t ask her out. Don’t hold yourself back from happiness, okay? When you overthink things too much, you can end up getting yourself hurt, so just do everyone a favor and stop overthinking this.”

When you finish speaking, you have to clench your jaw tight to keep from getting overly emotional. It’s too much, even though it should have nothing to do with you or Seungkwan, and yet all you can think of is that if the two of you hadn’t thought so far ahead maybe you could still be together. All being cautious had gotten you was heartbreak and an awkward atmosphere you couldn’t shake, never-ending frustration with yourself and everyone around you for no longer knowing how to act or react. 

Before Seungcheol can say anything, or you can start crying, Jeonghan walks into the living area.

“Y/N-ah, you’re early,” he says, walking up behind you and Cheol. He places a hand atop each of your heads and proceeds to ruffle your hair.

“Yah, what is it with you two,” Seungcheol whines, leaning away and swatting Jeonghan’s hand. It only makes him laugh and come around the couch, grabbing at your wrist to pull you off the cushions.

“Come on, let’s go.” You manage to smile at him, though you aren’t sure how. The two of you are barely at the front door before Seungcheol is back on his phone, smiling away.

The two of you are seated at the cafe when you receive the text from Seungcheol that he has a date with the girl on Sunday, and although you manage to smile at the news your coffee and pastries taste far more bitter after that.

January 16

Objectively, of course you should have expected to be invited to Seungkwan’s birthday celebration. After all, your friends are still his friends, so it only makes sense — and yet once you’re actually sitting around the table with everyone in the bar it feels… weird.

Everything looks so similar to last year, except that you’re sitting far away from Seungkwan with Jeonghan by your side. Your ex-boyfriend is lively as ever, having consumed just enough alcohol to make him loud and red in the face, though you know that once this high wears off he’ll go on one of his late night walks to steep in his emotions. In this large a group you had hoped you would feel more comfortable, and yet all you can seem to notice is all the half-pitying looks all your friends keep shooting your way. They look at Seungkwan and then at you and their smiles falter.

You’re the one who leaves first. It’s a Thursday night and you have a morning class; and more than that you just feel awkward. You go to stand outside, even in the bitter cold, because it feels better to actually be alone than to feel isolated at a table full of people. There’s a bench just a ways down, so you take a seat and breathe into your hands to warm them. Still, you don’t want to go home just yet. 

“Y/N.” 

Seungkwan sits down beside you, though his approach is too fast and he ends up sliding along the bench until he knocks pretty forcefully into your side.

“Slow down there,” you laugh, helping him to sit up straight. As you move to take your hands off him, he suddenly takes hold of your fingers, squishing them between his warm palms. He leans in close to you, so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You’re coming to my recital, right? Next week?” You blink at him, feeling intoxicated off his presence alone. Your head seems to be spinning, and you find yourself unable to get a grip on anything. It takes you a moment to respond, but Seungkwan doesn’t seem to notice, still grinning at you with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. 

“You want me there?” 

He seems to sober up in an instant at that, brows furrowed at your question.

“Of course. I always want you there.” The words make your heart flutter. You only wish he wasn’t drunk. You muster up a smile, though it feels stiff, and nod.

“Then, I’ll be there.” 

Seungkwan doesn’t let go of your hands, not even when all your friends come pouring out of the bar onto the sidewalk, yelling and calling for the two of you. It isn’t until Seokmin and Soonyoung actually come to scoop him off the bench and into a taxi back to their shared apartment that he lets go. He waves at you, beaming as they pile into the back of a cab, and you wave half-heartedly back.

You stay sitting on the bench until you can barely feel your legs, and then you call a cab. In the morning, you almost think the conversation was all a dream — but your calendar now has ‘Seungkwan’s recital’ listed as an event next Friday. You bury your face in your pillow and try not to cry.

January 20

The weekend passes with almost nothing notable happening. Busywork occupies most of your time, falling back into the routine of classes and the structure of having a class schedule. It takes your mind off of the events from Seungkwan’s birthday, but at night, left to your own devices, you find you have trouble sleeping.

Monday rolls around, and you drag yourself out of bed to your first class of the day at nine in the morning. You spend the time between that and lunch in the library, forcing yourself to focus and get work done — you know if you go back to your apartment you won’t be productive in the slightest, so you stick around campus. 

It’s a little past eleven when you decide to go get lunch. You tend to dislike waiting in lines, so you’ve made it a habit over the years to eat a bit earlier whenever possible; luckily for you, your next class is at half-past eleven, so your schedule is pretty accommodating. Since getting back from your semester abroad, you haven’t actively eaten lunch with anyone. After all, the semester has barely started, and some of your friends are still sorting out their schedules.

Also, they all still look at you in pity, or like they’re worried you’re going to do something reckless. You wish they would just ask you about your time abroad, even if it means answering the same stock questions over and over again. Anything is better than being reminded of the loss you still feel so acutely yourself.

You’re searching the cafeteria for a seat, preferably one where you can listen to music and eat in solitude, when two pairs of excitedly waving hands catch your attention. When you look down the arms extended in the air, you find the familiar faces of Seungkwan’s roommates, Seokmin and Soonyoung. Both of them are beaming at you and wave you over to their table. For a moment you hesitate, but you can’t think of a reason not to join them, so you take the empty seat beside Soonyoung and across from Seungkwan. 

The two greet you loudly, as per usual. Seungkwan murmurs a greeting when he swallows his food, then stuffs his mouth full again before you can even respond. As you begin eating your own food, you can't help but wonder what Seungkwan is thinking. It's obvious to you he's nervous, but about what you aren't sure. You have a sinking feeling it's you. Maybe him asking you to come to his recital was just drunken antics after all, since he doesn't seem to want you at his lunch table. 

His own nervousness only makes you more nervous than you had been. It makes you feel like an intruder. While Soonyoung and Seokmin chatter away in their usual excited way, speaking almost nonstop, seemingly oblivious to the wall of silence beside them. One chews while the other replies and so it goes on — Seungkwan pushes his food around a bit awkwardly and you stuff your mouth hurriedly. You can't think of a single thing to contribute to the conversation, only what excuse you're going to use to get out of the situation. Your next class isn't for another fifteen minutes at least, but you're finding you'd rather spend that time in some hallway than at this table where you aren't wanted. 

Between bites you cast glances at Seungkwan, uncertain as to whether you want him to meet your gaze or not. You miss having him look at you, but even if he looks to you now you know it won't be the same. Somehow you're always feeling as awkward as you did at the airport that day. Since the moment you stepped back onto Korean soil, you feel as though you’ve been tripping over every obstacle life has given you in a struggle to catch up with everyone and everything you left behind for that semester. Especially Seungkwan.

It feels like you’ve been doing and saying the wrong things to him ever since you broke up, and distance made your heart grow fonder but it also made you two just different enough to not be able to talk normally now. You wonder, when you look at him, what’s causing the bags under his eyes to darken; what his day-to-day looks like now that you aren’t actively in it… 

As you stuff the last bite of food in your mouth, your phone buzzes. You tear your eyes away from Seungkwan, turning it over to find a message of no significance — just a banner notification for an app. Nonetheless you find yourself pushing out your chair.

“Sorry guys, I have to get going now. Thanks for letting me sit with you.” Soonyoung and Seokmin seem startled to find you still there, having been so caught up in their own discussion. Seungkwan’s gaze flicks up to you, a slight frown curling the corners of his mouth.

“Sure thing, Y/N,” Soonyoung says, nodding his head. 

“We’ll see you Friday?” Seokmin asks hopefully as you lift your tray off the table. You pause, glancing towards Seungkwan only for him to avert his gaze back to his food. Nervously, you chew on your bottom lip for a moment as you nod, thinking of the calendar event on your phone. 

“Yeah,” you reply, softly. “See you Friday.” Unable to bear the awkwardness for a second longer, you turn on your heel and speed walk out of the cafeteria, not slowing down until you reach the building where your next class is. 

For possibly the first and only time in your life, you almost wish Friday wouldn’t come at all.

January 24

For the rest of the week leading up to Seungkwan’s recital, you go back and forth on whether you’re actually going to attend. A part of you thinks that with alcohol came honesty, and he really wants you there — but there’s always that nagging feeling. 

And then Seungcheol turns your own words on you the day of, when you’re at his apartment and talking to Jeonghan while he chooses an outfit about how you aren’t sure you should go. You want to, because you always want to hear Seungkwan sing, but you aren’t sure if it would be right. If you would be welcomed.

Seungcheol walks in, needing help buttoning the cuff of his shirt, and as you do so he looks down at you with a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, and you look up. “Remember that thing you said about overthinking leading to pain?” 

“Yeah.” Seungcheol raises his eyebrows, looking at you pointedly, and you drop your hands into your lap once you’ve finished with the buttons. You avert your gaze, plucking at the fabric of your tights. “Point taken.”

“You should really talk to him about this, Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan says, meeting your gaze through the mirror. You press your lips together, biting at them nervously. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking back at his own reflection.

“Listen, you know I love you,” he continues. “But you can’t go on like this. And, frankly, I don’t know how to help you anymore.”

“I know…”

“He’ll hear you out,” Joshua suddenly chimes in, coming to lean on the doorframe. You frown and shift awkwardly where you’re perched on the edge of Jeonghan’s bed. 

“I know,” you repeat, voice smaller. You can feel your throat closing up, chest tightening and eyes pricking with tears.

“Don’t cry,” Seungcheol says, and suddenly all three men are enveloping you in a hug, making it hard for you to even breathe.

“I love you guys,” you sniffle, “But I’m going to get makeup all over your shirts.” They back off at that.

“So, you’re coming with us?” Joshua asks, as Jeonghan reaches out to fix your hair. You nod.

“You’re right. I told him I’d go, and we do need to talk, so… yeah.” 

You steal the passenger’s seat from Seungcheol so that you get to control the radio, and also because Jeonghan is your designated emotional security friend and even the backseat feels far enough to make you anxious. You’re pretty sure if you weren’t sitting beside him you’d ditch out the car and run back home, because Joshua wouldn’t be quick enough to stop you. For the whole ride you fiddle with the radio, switching the station almost ceaselessly even though the drive is less than twenty minutes. Nothing sounds good to you, everything little more than a constant buzz in your ears as your thoughts continue to run rampant. 

“Y/N,” someone says. It sounds very far away. “Y/N.” The added forcefulness behind the voice finally gets you to snap out of it. The three men are standing outside the car, Seungcheol holding your door open and leaning towards you. All their brows are creased in worry, and you offer a smile which you hope is reassuring but feels shaky even to you.

“Ah,” you say, unbuckling yourself. “Thanks, Cheol.” Once you’re out of the car, however, you all simply stand together, awkwardly clumped by the front of the car. Seungcheol closes the door behind you, and while you look at the auditorium ahead your companions all look at you, still concerned. You take a deep breath in through your nose and blow it out slowly through your mouth. Lifting your chin, you nod.

“Let’s go.”

Your other friends have saved the rest of the front left row for all of you, and so you slip into the seat nearest the aisle you can get in case you have a spontaneous breakdown. The program lists Seungkwan’s solo as the second to last performance out of the dozen in the evening, with the final being a full choir piece. The only person closer to the aisle is Soonyoung, who flashes you a smile when you sit down. 

“Y/N-ah!” He chirps, though attempting to keep his voice low in such a setting. “How have you been? We’ve barely talked you since you got back.” Hoshi’s grin slips into an exaggerated pout, and you let out an apologetic sigh.

“Sorry, Hoshi-ah,” you say, patting his arm. “I’ve… I’ve been better, and I’ve been worse, you know?” Soonyoung peers down at you sympathetically, placing his free hand atop yours and squeezing it in reassurance. You can tell from his gaze that he knows the true reason behind your inability to settle recently, why you’ve been out of the picture for your long-time group of friends. 

“I know,” he replies, voice dropping low. His gaze also falls, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Of course he would know, given his proximity to the situation. You can’t help but wonder just what he’s been seeing, what’s been occurring, on the other side of the situation. You nearly open your mouth to ask just that, heart pounding against your ribs, but the dimming of the lights keeps you silent.

Your hand remains on Soonyoung’s arm until the end of the first song, when you finally relax enough to not need emotional support in the form of physical contact. Seungkwan appears in multiple performances, and you feel refreshed hearing his voice. It feels as though it’s been years since you heard him sing, and you only realize now how much you had taken it for granted in the past. 

Seungkwan’s solo arrives quicker than you had thought, and it leaves you breathless. Even before your semester abroad he had been preparing endlessly, always worrying over every last detail of his performance. You’d bought him a throat soothing tea for his birthday, along with some organic cough drops. His practices had always sounded wonderful to you, but hearing it now, on-stage and polished, it’s possibly the best thing you’ve ever heard. It moves you to tears, though you hold yourself back from crying fully, not wanting to be disruptive to anyone else in the audience. 

By the end of the concert you’ve eased yourself off the brink of tears, though only to find yourself overcome by another emotion entirely: anxiety. Your heartbeat is loud enough to nearly block out the raucous applause as you stand. Soonyoung pats you on the back before resuming his own round of applause. 

All you can think of now that the recital is over is that you should have rehearsed something to say to Seungkwan. Seeing him on stage, practically shining in his brilliance, makes you all the more aware of what a wreck you seem to be. Your hands won’t stop shaking, your breathing shallow. As your friends swarm the edge of the stage, beckoning Seungkwan down into their arms, you find yourself falling back to the edges of the group, wringing your hands. The others are rowdy enough to make up for your absence while you try to arrange your thoughts. 

Caught up in your thoughts, however, you don’t notice Seungkwan’s eyes on you. You don’t notice him approaching, your friends parting ways for him to get to you. Your eyes remain cast down as you turn slightly away, still lacing your fingers together nervously.

“Y/N.” His voice is soft, yet it cuts through the din without obstruction straight to you, piercing your heart like an arrow. As you turn to him it feels as though you’re the only two in the room, Seungkwan’s shining face your only company, the sole captor of your attention.

“Seungkwan,” you say. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t bring you any flowers. Slipped my mind.” You lick your lips nervously, casting your gaze downwards. Meeting Seungkwan’s eyes feels like a Herculean effort — at least, meeting them without crying. 

“You were amazing,” you continue, more softly. “Not that anyone was doubting, of course.” At that you finally manage to smile at him, though it’s uncertain. You can’t contain your pride, even if your relationship isn’t the same as it once was; watching him grow in his talent and confidence has been one of the greatest gifts in your life, you’re certain.

“Thank you. That means a lot.” Seungkwan shifts his weight from one foot to another, “Can we talk?”

“S-sure.”

“Outside?” You can only manage to nod, feeling unable to speak. You follow him down the aisle and out the doors, coming to stand near him by the corner of the building. The sun has set, leaving only the yellowy glow of the streetlights to illuminate Seungkwan’s features, turning his eyes to a warmer, molten brown. For a long moment he just stares at you, seemingly soaking in your presence, and you find your cheeks warming beneath his gaze. When you look away, he finally clears his throat and begins speaking.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. “Again. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” Your heart skips a beat when you realize that he does remember inviting you here. That he did it on purpose, not just on drunken impulse. The thought alone is enough to make your heart feel unbelievably warm. 

“Of course,” you reply, unable to keep from smiling. “I’m really proud of you, you know?” At your statement Seungkwan, too, starts smiling. It’s a sight you hadn’t realized you missed so acutely, the way his eyes light up as he’s looking at you. Although the atmosphere is still awkward, it feels far more natural than your previous encounters since you’ve been back.

“Right,” Seungkwan seems to snap himself out of it, shaking his head slightly. He rocks back on his heels a bit, a nervous habit. “I, um, I wanted to tell you something. Just… I’m not sure what to say.”

“The Boo Seungkwan, at a loss for words? I’m shocked.” Your lighthearted comment is delivered without your usual confidence; you feel a bit lightheaded to be honest, overwhelmed by anticipation and your own desire to say something.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “It’s going to sound really selfish of me—” Your heart drops, and you think it’s a miracle your knees don’t give out. Somehow, it feels like he’s about to break things off for a second time, except what is there to break off? Your barely-there friendship? You’re so caught up in your own thoughts you nearly miss the rest of his statement.

“—I want us to get back together.”

Only silence follows. Seungkwan is staring at you and you feel as though you’re staring through him. You can’t even be certain you’re breathing for a moment, and you wonder if you heard him right.

“What?” It’s a miracle he even hears you, given how quietly you speak. Hesitant, but obviously a bit concerned by your dazed appearance, he closes the gap between you with a step, taking your hands in his. It feels so natural, and yet both of you are staring at your hands as though they’re foreign objects. 

“Having you here made me realize that I don’t want to share these momentswith anyone else,” he says, slowly, carefully. “The whole crowd is meaningless if you aren’t in it… I want to make you proud. I want to share my accomplishments with you…” You lift your gaze at the tell-tale waver of his voice, squinting in the dim light.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” he warbles, and you slip your hands from his with a sympathetic chuckle, cupping his face in your hands. You brush away the tears with your thumbs, smiling wistfully at him. 

“Are you sure about this?” you ask, still holding his face in your hands. You’re reluctant to let go, in case this is the last time you get to hold him like this. He nods, swallowing hard.

“I know it was my idea to break up,” he replies. “But I regret it. I’ve been regretting it. I thought maybe you did, too, but I didn’t want you to feel pressured…”

“You’ve never made me feel that way,” you murmur. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Seungkwan. If you want me by your side, I’ll always be there.” 

You hardly have time to react when Seungkwan is suddenly kissing you, his hands reaching around your waist to pull you closer to him. You melt into his welcome embrace, quickly falling back into the familiarity of Seungkwan, winding your arms around his neck. It feels more like coming home than any plane ride ever could have — like you could have been anywhere at all and just being in Seungkwan’s arms would make it comfortable, familiar for you. He pulls away only to press his forehead against yours, cheeks burning bright red and lips curved into a broad smile. 

“Finally.” Both you and Seungkwan startle, pulling away just enough to look towards the auditorium. All twelve of your friends are clustered around the base of the stairs; it appears to have been Minghao who had spoken. Before either of you can reply, he turns his sharp gaze to Soonyoung, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Looks like you’re paying for dinner tonight.” At his words, Soonyoung looks exaggeratedly dismayed, whining to him in annoyance. Everyone else, however, comes to crowd around the two of you. Jeonghan drapes an arm around each of you, grinning cheekily.

“No more hasty breakups then, right kids?” 

“Yah, why are you bringing that up now?” Seungkwan complains, shrugging Jeonghan off both of you. He takes your hand as he continues to bicker with Jeonghan, who smiles serenely all the while as your massive group begins walking to the nearest barbecue restaurant. As you glance down at your hand in Seungkwan’s where they gently swing as you walk, listening to the familiar banter of your boyfriend and best friend against the background of all your other friends around you on the sidewalk, you can’t keep the smile off your face.

After weeks, you finally feel like you’ve come home. 

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Subtleties of a Suitor (Part 1 of 2)

Summary: Pre-calamity AU where Zelda’s powers awaken in time, but not everything is back to normal after Calamity Ganon is defeated.

Note: This is all @intangiblyyourswrites‘s fault. Also, the second part is NSFW -which also happens to be Kristie’s fault. Enjoy!

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Scrawling ink coated the underside of her hand and left light imprints on the edge of the paper. That paper was bound within leather covers that rarely left the Princess’s desk. It was a journal of upmost confidence; containing her deepest secrets and cresting moments of happiness. The highs and lows of her life caught between compressed papyrus.

It was hardly secretive that her lows were concentrated in the years before, caught in the repetitive cycle of failing expectations that were handed down to her from birth. This desk and this journal were Princess Zelda’s small reprieve. Even going as far as referring to it as an old friend because it felt better to write with purpose than to speak nothings into a void.

My dearest friend,

A worry line creased her forehead. The nameless friend was so accustomed to moments of happiness nowadays, it felt alarming to her that she was writing with distress once more.

These days have been nothing short of harrowing. In my last letter, I was convinced that he finally understood my intentions after Calamity Ganon was sealed away. I thought-

She paused her pen strokes and glared at the page, willing herself to connect thoughts to words and words to paper.

We don’t meet anymore, we haven’t since before the monster was sealed away. Even though the night prior haunted my dreams for weeks following my expressed wishes to cease these small moments of privacy. No matter how sweet and innocent they could be. As you know, in my heart of hearts I can’t bind him to me when-

When Zelda could never be his. When, in times of great enlightenment and prosperity, their fates have crossed and her father now sees him only as a valuable combatant in his army. When destinies have been fulfilled and they were no use to one another.

They both knew this in the beginning, but with the veil of ignorance and Zelda’s everflowing failure, she was convinced they were fated to die with the kingdom. It was a simple case of action and reaction. If she didn’t unlock her sealing powers, then Calamity Ganon would not be defeated.

The knowledge most likely drew out their passion. Pages upon pages recounted shaky hands and blushing cheeks that glowed hot and bright against starry skies. A string of months where she felt more warm than she had ever been and more loved than she thought she deserved.

Then, a week after the Calamity, when Link was pressing her against the railing of an empty stairwell far from the celebratory festivities, she broke their kiss after her guilt grew too heavy for her chest to bear. Zelda will never be able to forget the unmasked hurt on his face as she thickly told him that they couldn’t do this anymore. Among it all, Zelda told him she loved him.

I was under the impression he understood. Father offered Link a promotion and he didn’t even wait a day to think about it. The next evening another man was waiting by my door and of course it shocked me. A part of me wanted to be belligerent when Link hadn’t bothered to ask, another part was more than understanding. But now?

Now I’m rethinking everything.

It started two weeks ago.

The court was lively. Since Calamity Ganon’s appearance and subsequent defeat, Hyrule Castle had its fair share of celebrations. Three months later, the Zora was being hosted within its walls. Without looming dread over her head, Princess Zelda found herself in more social circles. The Zoran princess and Champion, Mipha, became an especially close contact. As opposing as the two princesses were, they had cultivated a solid friendship. Zelda assisted Mipha with fitting into Hylian customs and Mipha was a fantastic listener.

“Link hasn’t said anything about it to me,” Mipha said gently, swinging her little brother in her arms. Prince Sidon made a disgruntled noise and reached out towards Zelda once more.

The small prince smoothed the trouble in her brow as she heaved him in her arms. “Well maybe it’s for the best. We should both move on.”

They were taking turns about the court, trying to spend the dying summer days. Sidon giggled and reached out to his sister.. Mipha seemed to be debating what to say before opting for nothing at all and looked across the room. Her Hylian companion followed her gaze to find Link communing with her father and few other Zora. It was typical for him to parade around the Hero of Hyrule as if he were some trophy.

“I don’t know, Zelda,” Mipha softly said beside her. A joke from Link made the group laugh and suddenly the blond caught her eye. As if stung, Zelda looked at the marble tiles in front of her. She scorned herself when her mind would drift from the fact that he wasn’t wearing his Champion’s Tunic. “His burden is lifted, yes, but it’s not like him to so easily let go of someone.”

When Zelda didn’t respond, Mipha tried to reassure her. “I could be wrong. If anything, we can refer to Lady Urbosa.”

As they walked, they soon found themselves amongst a throng of Zoran and Hylian ladies who began to gossip about the affluential bachelors in the room. Although she was physically there with polite smiles galore, her head was miles from the court. There was something about wealth they were talking about when all went silent.

“Master Link!” a woman exclaimed, “What a pleasant surprise!”

Suddenly, Zelda was back with slight vertigo. The group moved from her and began asking a dizzying amount of questions.

“Tell us, how frightful was that monster?”

An excited Zoran was nearing jumping out of her draped fabrics. “Heavens! Recall to us how you slayed the dreadful Calamity Ganon, please sir.”

“Oh goodness, Catherine, not with my weak nerves.”

Why hadn’t they asked Zelda those questions? She was there too!

The man seemed caught up in the storm of women and it occurred to Zelda that she had the opportunity to slip away amongst the chaos. Right when she discreetly bid Mipha goodbye, Link began speaking.

“You’re all too kind. I’m afraid I’m not a very good storyteller,” he wore a graceful smile, but she could see the anxiety behind his eyes. She knew him. Then, she saw the skies in his eyes and any desire to leave dissipated. “I can tell you that Princess Zelda saved my life.”

All eyes fell on her and she felt the acute urge to stare at her feet. Her voice sounded foreign, “You say the most fantastic hyperboles, Captain.”

Those were the first words she has said to him beyond common pleasantries in three months.

“I assure you that there was no embellishment in the slightest.” Link was looking at her along with the rest of the ladies.

“Ah, well,” Zelda trailed off, “It was only fair when you saved mine.”

That caused a sea of hushed whispers around them. The woman that separated them spoke up excitedly, “Will you allow us a story or two, sir?”

“My apologies, I should be off to the barracks right now,” Link said, meeting her again. “I came to bid Her Highness goodbye.”

Another wave of whispers as the woman between them shuffled off quickly. Confusion ebbed at the Princess, but refined manners kept it at bay. Link reached out to her and she instinctively offered her hand, but his fingers grazed the underside of her forearm, the tips of his glove brushing down its length before finally clasping her palm. As he bent down low, he held her gaze, and it felt like they were the only people in the room. Warm lips pressed a long, searing kiss to her hand, and it revived the sensation of those same lips drifting up the inside of her thighs.

He pulled back, “You look lovely this evening, Princess. I hope we cross paths again.”

Zelda’s lips drew tight together and she nodded chastely, not trusting her voice to speak. Footsteps on marbled signified his leave and she looked at Mipha, who stared back with bewilderment. The two princesses thought the same question.

What was that?

Her ink quill scratched against the paper from added pressure, she readjusted her grip.

I thought about it for the rest of the evening. That one moment dredged up emotions I spent weeks burying. Logically, I had chalked it up to basic biology; chemicals in my brain that were ultimately a hindrance to my responsibilities. For a few hours, that had worked until I found out that that night would be the first of many where he would bid me goodnight.

The next day was no better because Father decided he was honored enough to dine with us.

“I’m so glad you can join us, Captain!” King Rhoam boisterously said. “There is a seat next to Princess Zelda.”

The woman stared holes into her empty plate as the chair beside her grated against the floor. When her father coughed to clear his throat she glanced up, “Isn’t it nice that he has joined us, Zelda?”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled tightly, hardly meeting their eyes. “It’s good to see you, Link.”

Her hands folded tightly in her lap. Zelda didn’t hear him reply, so she assumed he demonstrated his signature nod. Perhaps he didn’t want to be there either. Before the Calamity, he was never permitted to sit at the royal table, much less next to the princess. He was a simple soldier then, she reminded herself, someone with promise. Princess Zelda assumed this was another way for her father to show off the Hero of Hyrule to the lords and ladies at the table.

The thought made her bite the inside of her cheek. Didn’t he deserve better? Had he been asked what he wanted?

Supper crawled by painfully. Typically, she didn’t mind if someone sat by her but she hadn’t realized how common it was to brush arms with a neighbor. Each time they touched, she’d involuntarily flinch away. Sometimes he would mumble his apologies that were a little too close to her ear.

Like all things, the torture ceased and as Zelda was about to excuse herself, dessert was announced.

“Where are you off to?” Link said, watching as she was already half-risen from her chair.

The Princess swallowed her curses. “I’m excusing myself,” she lilted, not quite leveling with him. “A lady should keep her figure.”

It was a bold-faced lie. She knew that he knew she loved sweets and would easily endure three courses of her most hated dishes to reach them. Zelda dared him to say anything. The door to the kitchen swung open and revealed several servants. Her father suddenly eyed her oddly, “Are you not planning to stay? I requested fruitcake for this evening on your behalf.”

Oh.

Link looked away as she flopped back in her seat. Despite the rolling in her stomach, her cheeks flared in embarrassment and she rushed to say, “Thank you, Father.”

As much as Zelda wished it would, the issue hadn’t immediately folded. When a large cake was placed on the table, she had the full intention of taking the slice to her room under the guise of studying a fallen Guardian’s laser module. It would be an easy solution to this problem. The cake knife was in her field of view and she went for it, only for another’s to brush her hand away.

With accusation in her eyes, Zelda watched the smallest smile - almost unnoticeable - cross Link’s face.

“What are you doing?” she said under her breath, glancing around the table to assure no one was watching. It hadn’t seemed to be the case, but this was exactly what she didn’t want. The Princess knew this court and though they’re opinion of her had shifted, the lords and ladies would cling to any rumor no matter how innocent his actions were.

His eyes were carefully guarded and if he had been anyone else, she would have been offended by how large the slice of fruitcake was when he set it on her plate . Right when she moved to stand, he caught her with his words.

“Who is it that has you caring about the way you look?”

At the head of the table, King Rhoam was laughing at something an advisor said. By now, it would look uncouth to leave the table mid-course. With a heavy breath, Princess Zelda pulled her chair in and spread her napkin over her skirts. The cake was layered with lemon icing, which would usually make her exponentially excited. Her lips upturned into a soft frown. He shouldn’t ask questions like that. It wasn’t fair.

Annoyance surged into her chest. “Does it matter?”

He was quiet for a moment and conversations from others dominated the air between them. The fruitcake tasted stale in her mouth.

“Yes.”

She wasn’t looking at him - she couldn’t. A stirring feeling lodged itself in her throat and threatened to bring about everything she tried to undo. Memories of laughing so hard in Hyrule Field, doubled over in her saddle from something ridiculous he had said; learning in that moment that he looked at her like she was the moon on a cloudless night; his hands twirling her into a circle besides a campfire to the sound of her humming ballroom tunes.

He had asked me if I fell out of love with him or he had hurt me in some way. I hadn’t and I wasn’t then and I am not now. It wasn’t just about me, but him as well. If it came out to the court, to the public, that we were having an affair, of course I would be criticized. My character put into question and subsequently tarnished for as long as it stayed in the minds of my peers, but nothing would happen to my title. I would still be the Princess of Hyrule.

Link would be scrutinized and his reputation ruined. He could be subject to expellment and be banished from the castle or Castle Town entirely. That was a fear I had harbored and for me to perpetuate our relationship for selfish indulgence… that isn’t love. At least, not a love he deserved.

Daintily, Zelda set her fork beside her plate and partially turned to him. The man had been expecting her as if this was any ordinary conversation, his fork pressing down the spongy dessert instead of eating it.

“Only because you care so much,” she uttered with a stiff back. “The royal family of Labrynna will be hosted in Hyrule Castle in just a few days. I haven’t seen their prince since I was a child.”

His expression hadn’t changed, but he ceased his movements with the fork. Guilt pricked at the edge of her consciousness. Link placed his fork on his plate and reached up. Immediately, her faced flushed hotly and felt his coarse fingertips brushed her cheek. There wasn’t any movement to indicate that she would pull away from his touch.

Then, he smirked. “There was cream on your face.”

It was like he didn’t care! I was mortified.

Her ink pen ran underneath the last word several times to create a line deep enough to bleed onto the next page. The worry line on her forehead had creased deeper as she recounted the events that had happened.

I should have made it clear to him after dessert was over, but when we were taking leave, Father got caught up in a conversation with him. I couldn’t confront him at that point and when Link came to my door again to say goodnight, I shouldn’t have opened it. And when I did, I should have told him: Link, this is inappropriate and I’ve told you that I didn’t want this to continue. Especially in front of my father, no less!

But I didn’t.

Zelda’s face burned and she couldn’t get herself to write down that she might have liked it. She was someone who was both stubborn inside and out, and even her feelings wouldn’t leave with tumultuous effort on Zelda’s part. What was she supposed to say? That she really does miss him and that every second around him chipped deeper in the hole he left?

It was rude. Irresponsible. Ungentlemanly and without regards to propriety. OR my feelings for that matter! What if the way I felt about him is different? Three months is a long time.

And then she remembered his self-satisfied smirk when her face was hot under his hand. Her handwriting grew more frantic against the paper and she had to consciously apply less pressure before the quill-tip punctured through the surface.

Her mind shifted to the days after.

Labrynna was hosted in Hyrule Castle amongst continued celebrations of Hyrule’s success. Their King and Queen were welcomed with open arms, overwhelmed by the jubilations of Hyrulean citizens. Along with them was their son and daughter: Prince Tyrion and Princess Aurra.

Prince Tyrion had written to Zelda several times after the Calamity about their shared childhood, a time she hadn’t remembered at all herself and referred to Impa more than once to verify his stories and to write back to adequately pretend she had. The Labrynnian princess was someone Zelda wasn’t aware of whatsoever and even her father had leaned in during the processions to ask of her name.

Aurra, however, was acutely aware of Zelda. More importantly, she knew of the Hylian Champion who slew a monstrous being of myths.

Not long after making her introductions to Princess Zelda and King Rhoam, she skipped to who was at King Rhoams side and curtsied. Before Zelda could see Link’s reaction, Prince Tyrion took up her view. She offered the appropriate pleasantries and allowed him to take her hand, but she didn’t miss when Link took Princess Aurra’s.

She made note that he didn’t bring it to his lips.

Through the day, she didn’t wander from Prince Tyrion’s side. He was an interesting man; well read and well traveled. She found him to be a fantastic conversationalist nor was she blind to his charm. Dark eyes paired with brunet hair that was shorn close to his ears, which were notably shorter than any Hylian’s - a common trait amongst his people.

However, he was also arrogant.

As King Rhoam led the party through the castle grounds, a level above the barracks and training grounds, Tyrion spoke up.

“You know, Your Majesty, I am well trained in the arts of combat,” he said with a slight smile.

Rhoam raised a brow, turning slightly to face his daughter and the Prince. Two men sparred below, each clash of their swords echoing off the walls. The King of Labrynna nodded in affirmation, a certain pride in his face. “Yes, it’s custom for our prodigy to learn the blade from young ages. Tyrion has a special affinity to it.”

“Fascinating. I hope to see your skill during your stay, young man.”

“Well,” the smile of the Prince’s face and he gestured to Link behind him. “I would be honored to spar with the Hero of Hyrule.”

Princess Aurra stopped her chattering with Link and grabbed the sleeve of his blue tunic, “Oh, brother, you will surely lose. Isn’t that right, Link?”

Zelda swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with her familiarity with him after only hours. Even more was how unbothered he was by it.

“It surely would be quite the duel,” Rhoam mused, “As long as it has your approval, Captain.”

Link nodded Tyrion’s way, graciously, “The honor would be all mine, Your Highness.”

He said it to the Prince, but his eyes meandered to Zelda’s.

The preparation took an hour and by the time Princess took her seat overlooking the training grounds, the sun casted a golden glow over them. King Rhoam was incredibly eager for the duel, shooting secret smiles at his daughter as the two men shook hands below.

It was clear who would win to the Princess, Link was at the top of his class even before he became her attendant. She scolded herself, though, and told herself that she shouldn’t underestimate Prince Tyrion so soon.

Dimly, she could hear the two opponents giving their regards to one another. The Prince had changed into an elaborately designed sparring outfit that appeared to have leather padding laced at his forearms. Link, however, changed only into Hylian trousers.

Princess Aurra hummed next to Zelda, “Is that the magical sword? It looks normal to me.”

It wasn’t as he had chosen a Knight’s Broadsword to match Tyrion’s.

“It isn’t the Master Sword. We returned it to the pedestal after felling Calamity Ganon.”

Aurra blinked, “Together?”

Zelda politely nodded. That sword was an extension of Link and she remembered comforting him after he realized its purpose was served. The night of, she felt his tears through her nightgown and told him he was more than his destiny - they both were.

After Link gave his regards to King Rhoam and Princess Zelda, a man who had sparred prior held an arm out and shouted to begin the duel.

“Oh, how exciting!” Aurra squealed.

The two men  circled each other like vultures. Prince Tyrion was the first to push forward, a simple feint that Link sidestepped. He was testing the waters. Then, the Prince leapt forward and went for his opponent’s side, who parried without losing ground. There were several short exchanges of the Hero being passive, while Tyrion was assertive.

Before Zelda knew it, she was gripping the sides of her chair as they danced. Tyrion was grinning wildly at his stoic opponent. He hadn’t been bluffing earlier, he was skilled. The Hylian Princess had seened Link spar time and time again, never did it take so long for him to disarm his opponent in some manner. The sun beat down on them, creating glistening sweat on their skin that bled darkly through their clothes.

Suddenly, Tyrion had space for a large horizontal slash before Link could recover from a parry. Zelda let out a yelp and watched him duck into a lateral roll, regaining his senses and plenty of ground between them.

Tyrion harked out a laugh, “You are brilliant, sir!”

They were panting now and the comment brought a sideways smile to Link’s lips. “I appreciate the regard, Your Highness. You’re a remarkable swordsman.”

They took a moment to breathe and Link did the unthinkable. His Champion tunic was discarded easily to the ground and Zelda held her breath when his eyes found hers on the perch where she sat.

Princess Aurra gasped softly. Zelda didn’t blame her. Hard lines on his stomach were only more prominent in the sun and his chest heaved with his hard breaths. The lack of coverage revealed the flex of his arm as he readjusted his grip on the blade.

It wasn’t an oddity that he was now half naked. Tyrion had long let the strings that laced the neckline of his tunic loosen, leaving a large portion of his chest exposed. Considering that they were already in the heat of midsummer, the sight of shirtless men should be expected at this end of the castle. But Link, well, he was always different.

The Prince of Labrynna lunged forward with a grunt, thrusting his blade out. Where Tryion was tactful, almost mechanical, in his movements, Link was fluid. He took his opponents strikes like water, flowing into the gaps of his defenses and reevaluating in a moment’s notice. It truly was an art in Zelda’s eyes, a very dangerous art.

Much different than anything Tyrion had done, he brought his blade upward in a sideways slashing arch with a loud shout. Princess Zelda’s heart surged in her chest. Link grit his teeth and threw his weight back into a flip, landing on his feet.

Surprise registered in Tyrion’s eyes and couldn’t recover fast enough when Link brought his blade against the hilt of His Highness’s broadsword. The blade was sent skidding along the dirt.

“Ah,” Tyrion brought his hand up to further demonstrate his lack of weapon. “I yield.”

It was then that Zelda realized she was holding her breath. Her father and his guests had all stood and applauded, so she followed suit.

“Good show!” Aurra leaned on the stone wall. “Very well done!”

The two men clasped hands again with a few words of respect. The Hylian princess watched a short regaling and found an opportunity to slip away from the processions without another glance at the arena.

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 16: Round Two?

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen 

Word count: 1559

El had been right about her mysterious savior in that his interference grew to be something that could be quite a nuisance to them. It wasn't long after Jonathan's meeting with Falcone that he had returned with a new, tricked out getup. Rumors around town had confirmed that it was the same man and seemed to solidify the vigilante theory.

Gadgets or not, the pair had yet to see the effects of the toxin on the caped crusader. Jonathan had come home that night composed as always, but she had recognized the troubled look in his eyes. Between that and the attack on Falcone, it seemed that whoever was having little trouble sniffing out their plot.

"What's the bad news?" She sighed, putting down the book she had been reading. Jonathan just shook his head in response, loosening his tie.

"The bad news-" he sighed, rubbing his hand down his face, "is that Rachel Dawes is still alive, and rumors are that she has some leverage over the judge that Falcone paid off for the organization."

"Oh, shit," El put her forehead in her palm. After all of the traction that the so-called 'Batman' had gained so quickly, the last thing she had expected was to hear that the meddling DA was still around. "Well, wait, the bad news? Does that mean there's good news too?" She lifted her head again, relieved to see him nod.

"That microwave emitter that I told you about, for the final stage, it came in, it's all ready to go. If-" he cut off the look of excitement on El's face, "we can prevent the DA's office from throwing another wrench in."

"Jonathan, don't worry about that." She rolled her eyes and stood from the couch. "They have leverage on the DA, not Falcone's staff at the shipyard, and before they can build a case, they need to have proof that we even have it."

"If they get a warrant-"

"Then the boys at the docks will take care of it, that's what I'm trying to say. Now, will you relax? Everything is going to be fine. We have the machine, and we have more than enough of the toxin."

Jonathan was still leaning back slightly against the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. Elianna sighed, silently cursing her friend's perfectionist nature, and moved his hand away from his face and replaced it with her own hands on either cheek.

"Can you just once relax and appreciate your own work? Do you need a cigarette?"

"No, I don't need a cigarette; they're disgusting. I need to find a way to foolproof this damn thing."

"It is disgusting, it's absolutely revolting, but I think it'll bring you into the present and give you at least a couple minutes to step away from being you." She patted his cheek and nudged him toward the fire escape window.

"From being me?"

"Yeah. Let's not be you right now. Let's be me instead, and be proud of your work." Jonathan rolled his eyes but went along with her.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stop thinking for a minute.

You'll listen to her and not me? I'm very hurt, Jonny. You don't share a body with her.

Standing outside smoking, leaning against the rail, the pair stared out at the city before them.

"Look at that. It's disgusting. You should have come to California with me when you had the chance." Elianna teased and elbowed Jonathan lightly. He responded by exhaling slowly and giving a look that said 'maybe.' "Okay, look; you're still not being me, you're not here. Look out there," she pointed with her cigarette. "Gotham is falling apart, and if I remember correctly, it has been for decades. What you are doing with this project will end all of that once and for all. This city is a stain, and you're cleaning it out, once and for all."

A long pause hung between them as Jonathan let his friend's words sink in. She was right, and for the first time since the beginning of the whole plot, he felt a sense of pride for his contribution. Ultimately, this was for the greater good, and he would be the one to pull the trigger on it.

Pride was quickly replaced with a relaxed contentedness, and Jonathan took another drag, almost enjoying the taste.

"Actually," he began, "I think now we are cleaning it out. Give yourself some credit." He turned El's little speech back on her and watched as she floundered.

"Well, I—I haven't really done anything, I'm just sort of here, and honestly, I should have gone back to my apartment ages ago-"

"There isn't really any point now; there are only two weeks before we start." El nodded and returned her gaze to the skyline.

"I'm sorry for being in your space for so long. I really didn't mean to be here still." She turned her head to look at Jonathan.

"I already told you, I like having you around." El's eyes widened at the genuine admission. "Besides, if someone were to come after you, I'd rather you not be alone. I think we both know how that usually ends up by now." He finished with a grim smile, and the redhead nodded in agreement. Everything seemed to come back to the late Granny Keeny.

Remembering the painful and dangerous situation in which her friend was brought up made her sad, and she moved closer to rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm just glad I could help. I know I give you a hard time, but I love you very much." El told him matter-of-factly, planted a kiss on his arm before returning her head to his shoulder, and took a drag off the stick between her fingers.

Jonathan found himself glad that she couldn't see his face, as her words caused his eyes to shut of their own accord. Even Scarecrow's filthy encouragements were drowned out as he privately reveled in El's affection. The insecure teenager still inside of him reminded him that whatever she said was meant platonically, but he allowed himself a quiet moment to pretend.

Connecting with people had never been his strong suit, and that fact had continued to hold into adulthood. But being around Elianna every day again for the first time in years served to remind him of the benefits of personal relationships. Even so, it frustrated him to no end that he had yet to figure out whether his attraction to his friend was based on the comfort of her presence or something else.

Even thinking about it made him tired. Slowly, almost tentatively, his head rested on hers. In response, her free arm wrapped around his to keep him there.

Unbeknownst to Jonathan, Elianna was facing a similar dilemma. It was a debate she had been having with herself since she had moved to Gotham, and as much as she wanted to convince herself finally to take the chance, now was most certainly not the time. Besides...

"It's Saturday."

"Yes, it is."

"You said that we were going to dose me again; we were supposed to do that last night."

The moment broke, and Jonathan let out a long-suffering sigh. "Alright, if you're so eager," he extinguished his half-smoked cigarette and tossed it down onto the ground below with El following suit.

Once back inside, the pair both went automatically to prepare for the ordeal. As Elianna settled onto the bed, Jonathan spoke again.

"You know you don't have to do this again. We were already going to get you a gas mask like the one I have."

"I know." She replied simply, and with a Look, Jonathan began fastening the restraints.

"May I ask why you want to do this so badly?" There was a silence as the redhead pondered her answer.

While some of her motivation came from the perspective of 'just in case of an accident,' she was reluctant to admit the real reason: that once the toxin wore off, the flooding of endorphins left her exhilarated and wanting more. That the rush of surviving something traumatic and harrowing, even just an assault on her psyche, left her feeling powerful, if somewhat exhausted.

Despite her reluctance, Jonathan seemed to know the answer already.

"The thrill of making it through?" El couldn't help the short laugh that escaped.

"I guess that sounds kinda crazy." Jonathan shook his head.

"Not at all. I went through the same thing." He assured as he finished fastening all of the restraints and retrieved the old belt from the dresser where it had been left. "Just remember," he continued as he placed it between her teeth, "that I am going to be here the entire time, alright?" Before he could think about the action, he laid his hand against her cheek comfortingly. Reading her expression, he nodded, "I promise."

El nodded and took a deep breath through her nose to prepare herself, staring at the ceiling before nodding firmly. With that, Jonathan wiped the injection site clean with an alcohol swab and carefully stuck the prepared needle into her vein, and pushed in the plunger.

[thefatalmarksman]

Darkness of the Dawn

[[ aka, borderlands au luxu/xigbar’s tragic origin story, aka luxu/xigbar is never allowed to have a backstory without a shitton of baggage that goes with it and also i basically replaced the watcher’s role with luxu because they didn’t do more with them and because i can :))) ]]

~~~

“Luxu---I am going to tell you a secret I have never told anyone else.”

His Master’s voice abruptly cut through the white noise, breaking the reverie that had settled over the picturesque scene. For all Luxu could tell of the unaccounted-for passage of time, the two of them could have been standing there for a few minutes---to even a few hours. And for Luxu, he would have gladly stood there for days upon days for his Master to address him---just waiting for his Master’s initiation of the dialogue, admiring the placid blue lake-view sprawled out before them, dappled in a radiant ocher sunset, in never-ending contented patience.

“And you must never tell anyone else---understand?”

The graveness of his Master’s tone was most perturbing, for the wise Eridian Sage was known for his predominantly teasing, playful attitude, almost edging on manic behavior on occasion. So when he slipped into these serious phases---showed that side of him that truly marked his position as a wise scholar, a philosophical authority, and nearly-omniscient oracle that had written out the mysterious Book of Prophecies---that was the cue to hush, and listen.

And as such, upon this turn of attitude, Luxu’s response wavered slightly in tone, “Y---Yes,” then, more convincing once he’d gotten proper control of his throat, “of course, Master. You can trust me entirely.”

Thus, his Master began his slow pacing, all along the steep cliff side overlooking the expanse of crystalline water, and Luxu---ever-compliant---followed along as he spoke:

“It is time you knew the truth. Things are going to be... changing, Luxu. Very soon. Sooner than is probably pleasant,” and his meandering was slow, hands clasped behind his back, a movement back-and-forth so close the edge it made Luxu anxious. “And as my most trusted Apprentice, you will be a key figure in ensuring that everything---everything, everything---goes exactly as it must.”

Luxu had already been unnerved by his Master’s pacing, but at this revelation, could feel his gut clench anew, like he had swallowed a large stone---nervousness overtaking him in a fresh wave. Such an intense proclamation of responsibility---and Luxu, barely out of his youngling phase, still so uncertain of the universe around him, having primarily lived vicariously through texts his Master provided him and meager interactions with what little of the population that chose to speak to him, instead of absorbing any extensive real-world experience.

When his Master paused, Luxu took this as his turn to interject, drawing closer, until he was within arms’ distance---and yet, at this moment, feeling so much further away, “So... what is going to happen, and---what must I do?”

His Master suddenly stopped his movements, facing towards the lake, disappearing far into the horizon, towards the distant mist that glowed burning orange in otherworldly vibrancy---as though the water had been set aflame as the sun appeared to sink deeper into it. Luxu only wished that he could see his Master’s expression---beyond the hood that covered his head, beyond the mask that covered his face. Never before had he seen what lay underneath, and now, more than ever, he wished for just a glimpse---perhaps just a single glance at his visage would dispel the yearning for respite from this terrible conversation.

“...Luxu,” the name from his Master weighted with foreboding, “...soon enough, this place, this planet---this, what we have made our first home, in the hopes of expanding our progeny---will one day have a second name. Future generations of future species will concoct a translation, one name that they will misinterpret as another in their language, its true meaning lost to them:

“Nekrotafeyo.”

As the word came out of his Master’s mouth, Luxu felt an increasing trepidation, and---despite his hesitation---asked, “And it... means?”

“...Graveyard.”

Luxu grew silent, then his Master clinched in place his awful point, “Yes---all of this---everything we know, that lay out before us, everything that we’ve built---will come to its end, left as nothing but a wasteland filled with crumbling ruins.”

Turning his back away from the scenery upon which he had been staring so fondly---the resplendent, enthralling brilliant dusk, smoldering into a purplish hue, as though denying the comfort of the sight in light of this news, in order to linger on the impending tragedy---Luxu raised his gaze upwards, towards the towers that reached into the sky, extending proud and tall like the arms of his Master’s followers at a sermon in the throes of holy reverence. To think---soon, as his Master had described so vaguely---these monuments---testaments to their proud civilization, their masterful craft in establishing their dominance over the universe, the loudest statement possible of ‘we exist!’---would soon be nothing more than... tombstones.

“However... this is where you come in, Luxu.”

He had been silent in his approach, and Luxu felt the long-fingered hand of his Master land on his shoulder---a gesture meant to be of comfort, and yet the Apprentice could only feel it minimally, its warmth at the very edge of his mental awareness.

“Luxu---you will survive. You will live on.”

At these words, Luxu knew he should feel some semblance of relief---that he would avoid such a catastrophic fate that the remainder of the Eridians were doomed to suffer---and yet, he was just cognizant enough, just keen enough, to know that there was a price to this fact. That, as he felt his slight shoulders shrug in discomfort---his Master’s touch suddenly becoming far more intrusive as all of this sunk in---there was more harrowing information to come.

“...Just me? Even you... even you will be gone?”

A soft response, the barest flicker of sympathy, “Every single Eridian, yes---even me.”

Another ensuing silence, and Luxu could feel the weight of everything---everything, everything---toppling down on him. A black hole inside, sucking out every light of hopefulness he had ever felt. Every single moment, culminating to this very one---so very bleak, so very wretched.

“But,” his Master went on, and finally the unintentionally cruel presence of his hand was lifted, “the good news is that, one day, you will see my return. I will come for you---at least, after some time has passed.”

With a palpable disquiet, “...How long?”

There came a breath from behind the mask, and Luxu watched the movement of his Master’s form---wanted to picture behind the porcelain veil some sort of commiseration, some condolence as the time mounted between the question and the answer.

Pleading for the truth now, “How long?”

“Just---” and, suddenly, his Master’s voice upturned in mood, “well, just think of this as a vacation! An extended one, filled with lots of adventure! Lots of sight-seeing!”

Usually, such an abrupt, jovial switch in his Master’s tone was a signal for relief---that all worries should melt and be replaced with utmost optimism---but in this case, it only worsened the sinking feeling. The dread. The fear. The heartache, even. Perhaps it was selfish, but the main source of his pain now---even more acute than the concept of the death of the entire planet---was that he would be separated from his Master. He had never known a life without him---and now, in a matter of several minutes of conversation, all of his preconceived notions of safety and protection had been entirely stripped away from him.

“...So, what do I do now?”

A brief, yet brutal pause, then, “You will have to be...” another pause, to search for the right term, “...rebuilt, in order to endure what is to come. You will need the physical means to carry on through the ensuing generations, because as it is, your body is too frail to stand the test of time that is before you,” and again, that hand on his shoulder, increasing that throbbing emptiness in Luxu’s chest.

“I promise you, the pain will not last long.”

~~~

His Master had been wrong about the pain.

Very wrong.

~~~

“You know of the Sirens, correct?”

The voice of his Master was distant now---an echo, at this juncture. Mental movement between points in time often felt like a dream---an absence of thought, and suddenly, he was somewhere else. Right now, it appeared he was in some sort of stony, high-ceilinged chamber, illuminated by a series of red lights, and appeared to still be under some sort of construction. He could not conceive its purpose---nor was the notion at the forefront of his mind. 

“I know thus far you have not gotten the chance to meet any of them---the one living here included---but believe me, you are going to meet many more of them on your journey. Though we have surveyed that only a set amount can exist at a single time---” then, a tilt of his Master’s head, “---there... will be exceptions to this. As you know, there always are to the norm,” then a broad gesture towards Luxu. “Somewhat like you!”

Luxu did not respond to the joke at his expense, whether or not it was meant to console him. Instead, his ruminations swam through him like agitated anglers---how long had he been like this---hurting like this? The rending agony still remained from the procedure---still fresh, still sharp---within his newly-constructed joints, down into his heftily-reinforced bones, and through his now-heightened, sensitive nerve-endings.

And how long must he suffer the harsh stares when traversing within public spaces? Younglings told to avert their eyes, gazes filled with ever-tensing apprehension as he passed them by---and, at times, bordering on complete disdain at his... unseemly appearance. A disgraceful mishmashed monstrosity of two different entities---Guardian and Eridian---deigned to be neither by their standards. 

Even before this, as an Apprentice to his Master, he had not properly belonged---and now, the stigma had only increased, this time in contempt.

He was a freak.

And when Luxu said nothing, his Master continued, “Well, any-way. Your main job is going to be keeping an eye---” this word especially emphasized, Luxu noted, “---on the various goings-on of the universe---and we will get to that bit soon enough, most assuredly---but another thing you are going to have to do is watch these particular individuals. And even when you think you should interfere, do not. If you do, it could create paradoxes of untold consequences.

“The only time you may ever act is when you know you can act---and you shall know what that means soon enough. But otherwise, everything must unfold as foretold---that is, first and foremost, your Role.”

Still, Luxu’s mouth did not move---made not a single sound---and still his Master went on, “Thankfully, the way your body has been---altered, it will not only extend your lifespan significantly, but it will be what protects you from any supernatural powers the Sirens have. And believe me, you are going to be quite thankful for that. Because trust me, you are going to be in for some... close encounters.”

At long last, Luxu replied, “...Okay.”

“Just...” his Master’s slow approach, a hand on his shoulder---the renewed return of Luxu’s despair, “be ready for the next phase. You will be meeting your first Siren soon enough---and I must prepare you for it. After that... unfortunately, you will have to go alone from here on out.”

~~~

His Master had been correct.

He was prepared. And he was alone.

Above what would be known as the now-completed Pyre of Stars---at least, what his Master told him it would be known as some time in the future, yet again unspecified---he watched the Siren called “Nyriad” with the new Gazing Eye he had been given, replacing what had once been his own right eye. He clutched within the talons of one deformed hand the ultra-weapon that he referred to as “No Name,”---and at his side, hanging from his other claw, the Black Box, heavy with its unbreakable locks and containing a Secret to which only he and his Master were privy.

These were to be considered, he supposed rather bitterly, parting gifts from his Master---and the application of Eye the last testament to the fact that what pain he thought was the maximum of what he could endure... was not.

As he stood witness to the disappearance of what could have once been considered his entire species, his position at the pinnacle of the temple’s arch leading out towards a field of diminishing starlight---captivated by Fate until it appeared every single one of the Eridians had been rendered into nothing but their bloody essence to feed the Eldritch being that was then sealed away---she saw him. 

And yet, as he returned her stare---gazed into such stunningly blue eyes---he found himself... feeling nothing. Where once there was empathy, there was apathy---where once was a concern to be loved and to belong, there was complete and utter detachment. Cruelly forced upon him---perhaps, he had pondered, for the better.

Therefore, as she surveyed him surveying her, he did nothing.

For from now until the end of the unknown, he had accepted that this would be his all-consuming Role, at the behest of his absent Master---the Fate to which he would have to adhere himself:

Waiting.

Watching.

Dawn was approaching, and in the wake of the genocide, he turned his back on the first Siren he had ever met, and, dragging the Black Box behind him with No Name in tow, tread heavily on towards the rising sun---and to wherever else his feet were destined to take him.

[timeoutforthee]

Like it or Not-Chapter 16

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl, @bubblycricket, @fnp-alizay,

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: overexercising, ignorance

Roman creates like it’s the cure for his sickness.

He isn’t sure what his sickness is, if it’s the eating disorder that weighs him down, if it’s all the darkness swirling in his head that he pretends isn’t there, if it’s the smog in his environment that feels like poison in his mouth every time he breathes it in. Whatever it is, he feels like if he has something-a pen, some markers, a script, something-then he can hit the ground running and leave it in the dust.

“So I have one good coping skill?” he asked Picani when they first started working together.

“Hey,” he replied, “It’s more than some people have.”

Ever since he cut theater out of his life, he had felt a sort of emptiness. It was almost as if he had been holding on to something for years, and he finally let it go. He didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, he didn’t have time for a moment of emptiness, or of silence.

Which lead them to the current discussion.

“Does your aunt always pick you up late?”

Logan and Patton had already left, leaving Virgil and Roman alone. Usually the group would be too emotionally exhausted to talk after a session, but for some reason, the silence seemed unacceptable today.

“Uh, actually,” Virgil lifted his hand to rub his neck. “My aunt is right there.” He jerked his head in a general direction. Roman looked over and squinted. There was one woman sitting in a silver car. Even from a distance, Roman could see that she and Virgil had similar ice blue eyes.

“Then why don’t you…?”

Virgil groaned, “Like, don’t make it a thing? I just like to make sure you guys get into your cars okay.”

“Wait, so you wait for us to get in our cars and drive off before you go home.”

“I said don’t make it a thing. You’re making it a thing.”

“I didn’t make it a thing, I think it just is a thing,” Roman tried to hide a smirk, but he couldn’t help it, “You secretly looooove us.”

Virgil groaned and tugged his hood down over his eyes. “Can you not?”

“I’m telling Patton.”

“I will leave you, I swear-”

“Noooo, don’t leave me alone,” Roman says.

“Yeah, where are your parents anyway?”

“I guess they’re busy,” Roman says, and there’s a little, anxious voice in his head that whispers they forgot you which is stupid. And he knows it’s stupid. So why is it not going away. “They’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, a loud horn blares from the opposite side of the parking lot. Virgil jumps (just Virgil, definitely not Roman, nope.) and turns his head. A tall, muscular guy gets out of a stupidly shiny red car and waves at Roman. He waves back, even though his eyebrows are furrowed.

“Who-?”

“That’s my oldest brother, Maximus,” Roman says, cutting him off.

“That’s your brother?”

“One of them, yeah,” Roman shrugs, “Aw, guess I can no longer grace you with my presence.”

“Tragic,” Virgil deadpans, turning to head to his aunt’s car.

Roman walks over to Max, wrinkling his eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, baby bro.”

“Please don’t call me that,” there’s no bite to it. Max knows Roman doesn’t mind and Roman knows Max won’t stop calling him that. It’s been that way for as long as Roman was actually a baby.

They both get into the car. Roman glances up to the window and sees Virgil pulling away. He sends him a quick wave, and Virgil throws him a little two finger salute back.

“So you’re...making friends at your…” Max does a little circle with his hand.

“What is that?”

“You know...the…” Now he’s making a zig zag pattern.

“You’re making no sense. If you’re trying to ask if I’m making friends at group therapy, yes.”

Max lets out a breath, as if he’s grateful that part of the conversation is over.

“So what are you doing here?”

“You know, I do sometimes just want to check on you guys, you know.”

He really means check on you but neither of them need to say it.

Max is a personal trainer at a gym one town over, putting him basically forty five minutes away. The whole family knows this, because it was something their mother obsessed over when he was moving. People said she did such a good job raising her sons, especially since they wanted to stay close.

So Max and the other oldest, Alexander, stayed close by and visited on the weekends. Key word being “weekends” and not picking Roman up during his therapy appointment. In fact, everyone in his family preferred to stay far, far away from his sessions.

“So, did you draw the short straw this week?”

“What?”

“Well, I assume, since it’s a such a harrowing task, that everyone gets together and draws straws behind my back to see who’s stuck taking me to and from therapy. Did you lose this week?”

“That’s not fair, Roman,” Max says, in the same voice their father uses, “Of course it’s not fun. Do you even like it?”

Roman, for once, keeps his mouth shut. He feels like this is a trick. Say yes and they’ll think he’s going because he enjoys it. Say no and it’s a perfect segue into “great! Guess you don’t have to go anymore!”

Max sighs, and steadies himself, as if he’s been dreading what comes up next.

“You’re my baby brother, Ro. I just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay,” he pauses, “Are you okay?”

Roman turns to look at him, but Max keeps his eyes on the road. So, Roman summons his brightest smile, and just says “Of course!”

^

“You know, they’ve started yoga classes at the gym,” Max tells everyone at dinner, “It’s really enlightening, and we can take part for free.”

His dad scoffs and he frowns at him. “I mean it, Dad. It’s really cool.”

“Oh, are you opening your chakras?” Philip asks sarcastically, taking a bite of his steak.

“No, but I’m practicing mindfulness and being aware of the present-”

“You can be plenty aware of the present without yoga,” his dad says. Max sighs. He’s not winning this argument, and it’s not worth fighting, so he lets it drop.

“Any interesting clients?” his mom asks, quick to change the subject.

“Well, I’ve gotten a few people in, just some people who started school recently and want to drop ten or so pounds,” he pauses, “But actually...there’s this girl who I’m training.”

“Yes?” his mom prompts.

“She’s recovering from an eating disorder.”

Suddenly, Roman is choking. His family turns to stare at him, which makes everything worse, so he tries to drown the tomato he just swallowed whole with water. After a while, it works.

“You were saying?” he asks, voice strained.

“Huh? Oh, yeah-so this girl has been struggling with extreme dieting a binge eating and such her entire life, and a year or so ago it escalated into anorexia. She’s just now been allowed to start exercising again, and we have to really ease her into it.”

“Why?” his dad asks, “You know what they say-dive in head first, sink or swim.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just what you say,” Max jokes, “But her body has been neglected for so long that she really needs to build her strength back up. If we help her do that, then she can keep growing. If we just push her in, she won’t be strong enough to ‘swim’.” Max does air quotes around that last word.

“Hm. Tragic how girls can get to that point,” his mom says, taking a bite of her steak.

“Always did find that strange,” his dad adds, “You really wanna know a girl, then take her on a first date to an all you can eat buffet. She gets some steak, she’s a keeper. She wants a salad, she ain’t worth it.”

Roman is suddenly very self conscious of his own little salad. But it doesn’t matter, because no one is looking at him.

“So,” Philip says, leaning back and looking at Max, “Anyway I could convince you to help me out on some workouts? I need to get ready for football. The coach has some workouts for us, but you know. They don’t really compare to one on one.”

“Sure, I can spare an hour or two.”

“You want to get in on that, Roman?” his dad asks, raising his eyebrows, “You don’t have theater anymore, you could always sign up for-”

“I don’t think I’m going to sign up for anything,” Roman says quickly, cutting him off, “But I would like to join, if you guys don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Philip says, shrugging.

Roman turns to see Max staring at him. Not just staring at him, analyzing him, with narrowed eyes.

“Uh, earth to Max?” Roman smiles, and he hopes it’s as dazzling as it always is. Max blinks and shakes his head.

“Of course,” he says, but his eyes are still burning into Roman’s.

^

When Roman can’t create, he destroys.

He pounds away at the punching bag in his family’s home gym, until it shakes.

“Baby bro,” and why is Max’s voice so gentle? So quiet? “You need to slow down.”

“Maybe,” Roman says, accenting every word with a punch, “You. Need. To. Catch. Up.”

Suddenly, the punching bag is moved back, out of his reach.

“Hey!”

“Try some weights,” Max says.

Roman doesn’t want to try weights. The thing with weights is you could clearly see the numbers. He knew he wouldn’t be on the level of Philip, who needed to stay in shape all summer for football, or Max who was a personal trainer for a living so all he would see was how he was less than, less than, less than.

Instead, he got on the treadmill, and ran. He could hear Max through his headphones, lecturing him about a proper warmup and increasing slowly, and just to spite him, he pushed the button as high as he could stand it.

He could not create, so he tried to outrun. Outrun the sickness, the darkness, the poison. But as his sneakers hit the ground, he knew he wasn’t really going anywhere.

[dracoandluna]

Prompt: Pirate AU. Son of the esteemed British Navy Admiral Lucius Malfoy, Draco finds himself sailing with the notorious Captain Voldemort against his will. But a new captive they've taken on just may be the key to his escape...

Draco feels like jumping up and down in joy when he first sees her.

She’s bound tightly by rope, and there’s a wound on her forehead that looks relatively new, judging by its angry red color. Her long hair is in complete disarray and her eyes are wide in fear.

She’s perhaps the best thing he’s seen since he’s come aboard the Death Eater.

“Send her down to the hulk,” Captain Voldemort orders, and Wormtail quickly comes forward to grab the girl by her arm. “As long as we have her, her father will be obedient.”

This earns a round of laughter from the sailors, though Draco doesn’t really see the humor in what he just said. But maybe that’s because he’s too goddamn excited.

                                                           *

There’s almost always someone up on deck, which makes sneaking around difficult, but if Draco’s learned anything as Voldemort’s first mate, it’s that a bottle of rum can get you far when dealing with sailors.

He climbs down the wooden stairs slowly, so not to startle her, and is surprised to find the floor covered in at least five inches of water. There’s obviously a leak, but it’s so miniscule at this point, that no one has paid it any heed. He certainly won’t.

He sloshes over to the only occupied cell to find her standing, seemingly peering at the wall.

“Hello, Draco Malfoy,” she greets cordially, not turning away from her spot.

“How did you know it was me?” Draco demands, off put by her strange demeanor.

“From the sound of how you walk,” she tells him, finally turning to look at him. This offers him a view of what she had been staring at: a small hole in the wall; probably where the water was coming in from.

“Forgive my earlier tone, m’lady,” Draco apologizes, looking sincerely repentant. She was imprisoned on a ship with the most sinister man in all the oceans and a crew of just as dammed sailors, she wasn’t to be faulted for acting a bit barmy. “I wanted to come in and check on you…. your captivity saddens me beyond words.”

“Then don’t use words,” the girl suggests, sitting down on the small wooden ledge that was to serve has her bed.

“Well, I-uh,” Draco was momentarily taken aback by her boldness. In all his planning’s, he had not once calculated her being immune to his charms- no woman was!

“Certainly,” he says finally, clearing his throat. From his pocket, he retrieves a loaf of bread and an apple. “It isn’t much, but if I took anymore, someone would have surely noticed.”

To his relief, she looks very happy at the sight of food, and quickly comes forward. Before she takes it from his outstretched hand, however, she pauses and looks at him closely. He shifts uncomfortably under both her gaze and the cold seawater that was starting to seep into his boots.

“Why does my captivity sadden you?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

Finally, some ground he could work on.

“I fell in love with you the moment I set my eyes on you!” Draco declares, holding her gaze as he keeps his features downright suave. “And I swear on my life I won’t rest until I have you freed from Voldemort’s wretched grasps!”

She stares at him to the point where he wanted to squirm. This was not how he had imagined things to play out.

“You’re not in love with me,” she says finally. “But I will happily accept the food. The apple core is good for attracting charmkricks.”

Draco gapes at her, completely flabbergasted as she greedily bit into the bread. Forcing himself to inhale deeply, lest he say something he may regret, he says in an even of a tone as he could manage in his rage, “You may not believe me now, but I will prove my love and devotion to you, until my dying breath!”

She just hums and bites into the apple.

                                                             *

He visited her again the next night, and the one after.  She was frustratingly difficult to convince, but with each visit, she seemed to be more responsive to his advancements, which Draco took as a good sign. But tonight, it was his last chance to woo her, and it was imperative that he did.

“Luna,” he greets as she comes into view. Her name was just one of the many things he had learned about her in the past two nights.  He had also learned that she may very well be insane, but it wasn’t like he had any other option to work with. “I need to speak with you about something important.”

He wasn’t really surprised by anything she said anymore, he had come to learn that with Luna, you must always expect the unexpected, but it was a lie to say he was expecting it when she shook her head and agreed with him.

“Yes, you do,” she says in that dreamy voice of hers. He only thought of it has dreamy because he kept hearing it his dreams, which frustrated him to no end.

“We must leave tomorrow tonight, my love,” he tells her urgently. “But I can only take you with me if you can trust me completely- can you do that?”

Instead of answering him, she stands and walks over the whole in the wall and peers out. He bites the inside of his cheek in frustration as he awaits her answer.

“Yes,” Luna tells him, and Draco can’t help but grin at hearing that. Luna grins too. “But you must dive left.”

“What-“ but Draco’s question is cut off at the sound of footsteps directly above them.

“I have to go,” he whispers quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

                                                             *

In hindsight, Draco should have really known better than to think he could outsmart Voldemort.

The start of his day had been atypical. He usually was awoken by the morning bell, but today, a quick glance out the small window told him it was nearing midday—they were never allowed to sleep in this late.

After hurrying to pull his boots on, Draco ran up the stairs into the blistering heat only to see that the entire crew, and a once more bound Luna, was waiting for him.

Of course.

“I must say,” Captain Voldemort began. “I found it rather pathetic, that you tied your little escape plan to a young girl. Didn’t have to gall to go rogue on your own?”

Draco knew better than to answer, so he simply stood there, biting down the nausea that comes with accepting one’s grim fate.

“Mutiny under no circumstances is tolerated here on the Death Eater, Draco,” Voldemort informs him. “Just imagine the remorse admiral Malfoy and his wife will feel upon hearing that their only son walked the plank.”

He is violently shoved forward by Crabbe. Someone had put out the plank on the hull.

“I see now that you bring with you too much temptation to the crew,” Voldemort says to Luna, who listens to him calmly.

“So please,” he sneers at her, gesturing with a pale hand towards the plank. “Ladies first.”

One of the sailor’s lifts her, as her arms were still bound, onto the plank. Luna gracefully walks to the end of the plank before she looks back.

“At your next stop, I would suggest investing in some dried mint, it’ll drive away the globberstrims, and you have a rather severe infestation of them.”

And then she dives to the left.

Draco is once more shoved forward, and despite the terror he feels, he can’t help but glare behind him in annoyance.

He pulls himself onto the plank and makes his way with shaking legs.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Voldemort calls out. Draco turns around only to catch a pistol thrown at him. “One bullet, as is in accordance with the pirate code.”

“As there are two of us, shouldn’t we have two pistols?” Draco pleads. “Or at least two bullets?”

Voldemort just laughed. It was the most harrowing sound Draco had ever heard.

“You can be a gentleman and shoot the lady,” he suggests, his voice light.

Draco turns back to the blue waters and takes a deep breath. Then he does something he has never done before-he puts his trust in a stranger, and dives to the left.

The current immediately pushes him backwards, and Draco is flipped over several times before the waters calm enough for him to open his eyes and take in his surroundings.

The waters were a bright blue, and there was a multitude of colorful fish swimming around him. Had the circumstances been different, Draco would have stopped to appreciate the other worldly beauty that only the ocean could offer. Even pale Luna, sinking, with her arms still bound, looked like something out of a Greek painting.

Deciding that if he was to die, he might as well do one last good deed. He swam towards her quickly and retrieved a dagger from his vest. The rope cut away easily enough, and lopping one arm around her small waist, Draco began his ascent up.

When he finally cleared the water, gasping for air, he was shocked to find that they weren’t all that far from a small island. Glancing at the still motionless Luna in his arm, he taps into an inner strength he frankly did not know he possessed, and begins to swim with just one arm.

Not more than ten minutes later, he and Luna collapsed onto the wet sand, him heaving for breath as Luna’s chest barely moved.

Getting to his knees, Draco forces his exhausted muscles to crawl, and begins to manually pump her chest with his hands. As he works, Luna begins to spit up mouthfuls of water, sometimes gagging on it. When she finally stops acting like a human water fountain, Draco allows his arms to slow.

She opens her large eyes, and he’s surprised to see warmth in them.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice raw no doubt from all the sea water she swallowed.

Draco rolls his eyes.

“Oh, no need to thank me,” Draco bites sarcastically. “Now you can die from starvation instead!”

Luna sits up and Draco realizes her white dress is nearly translucent now and quickly averts his eyes.

“We won’t starve,” she says both gently and firmly.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Draco hisses. “You and I have been marooned on an uninhabited island!”

“Uninhabited yes,” Luna says with a smile. “But unfit for habitation? No.”

Draco collapses onto the white sand tiredly, unable to argue with her any further. If she wants to hunt her imaginary creatures for food as the last thing she did before she died, who is he to stop a lunatic?

He hears Luna get up and walk away, and he nearly calls for her to come back; he doesn’t necessarily want to die alone, but he estimates that he has at least a day or two worth of energy in his body, so he can always meet up with her later.

He must have fallen asleep right there on the beach, with the waves tickling his feet with every tide, when Luna comes and shakes his shoulder.

“Wake up,” she says softly, shaking his shoulder once more. “You need to eat, you’re looking weak.”

Unable to hold back his curiosity, Draco cracks open one eye. Then sits up immediately, despite the protest of his abdominal muscles.

Davey Jones locker! She really did have food!

Digging into the food without a second thought, Draco scarfs down all the food before realizing with a small pang of guilt that he hasn’t saved any for her.

It must have shown on his face, because she just smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Draco suddenly has, albeit belatedly, an epiphany.

“What do you know that I don’t?!” Draco shouts, jumping to his feet to glare accusingly at her. Draco did not like being played a fool, and he had already been played as one today.

“Oh, well, a lot, I suppose,” Luna answers surprised at his reaction. “Though I’m sure you know a lot about some topics I know nothing of.”

“I don’t mean in general!” Draco yells. “What is this island? How did you know to dive left? What is going on?!”

Luna nods like she had been expecting this. Getting to her feet, she brushes the sand from her now mostly dry dress and motions for him to come forward with a wave of her hand.

Too curious to refuse, Draco follows her into the line of palm trees when she stops suddenly. Draco looks down and realizes why.

There was a wooden door in the ground.

Pulling on the handles, the door reveals a ladder which makes its way down into a dark tunnel. Luna begins to descend the rope ladder when she realizes that Draco remains glued to his spot.

“Aren’t you going to come?” she asks him, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

Draco just shakes his head and follows her lead.

A lantern hangs from the dirt roof, which provides Draco enough light to assess the small bunker. It’s one wall was lined with shelves that are stocked with provisions. He even catches sight of a flare, which floods him with hope. One the opposite wall is a small bed, and a detailed map hangs above it. In the middle of the bunker is a rounded table with, curiously enough, two chairs.

“Have a seat,” Luna says, motioning to one of said chairs, sounding every bit the perfect hostess his mother was. He sits.

“I’m the navigator for Captain Harry Potter,” she tells him, carefully assessing his features, which are currently totally neutral. “My father is a well-known map maker, many pirates come to him for not just maps, but advice on sea routes, and thus whatever he says is spread quite far.”

“So Voldemort kidnapped you to influence what your father says, because he needs more supporters,” Draco adds tonelessly, knowing this by sitting in on the planning of this himself.

“Correct,” Luna says with a tilt of her head. “But the reason why my father went into map making is so he could record his travels in his search for his creatures.”

So, her craziness is inherited, apparently.

“This island is rumored to be the home of the crumple-horned-snorcack. My father had this bunker made and stocked so that he could come this winter- their mating season, in hopes of spotting one.”

“You were looking out the window all that time to spot this island,” Draco chips in, starting to see a larger picture form.

“Yes, I also knew there was a pipe in my cell that most probably lead to the captain’s quarters, most probably placed there so Voldemort could eavesdrop on anything the prisoners had to say. That’s why I didn’t play on with your infatuation initially, so he wouldn’t immediately throw us overboard,” Luna explains patiently.

“What about diving to the left?” Draco asks, thoroughly engrossed in the inner workings of her mind. “How did you know that would carry us furthest towards the island?”

Luna just shrugs. “I work on a ship. I know a bit about them, besides, I had been studying the current for a couple of days, and most captains usually place the plank to the right of their quarters, probably because the hilldurk lives on the left side.”

“You are absolutely incredible,” Draco admits, completely in awe. Maybe she isn’t insane, so much as a misunderstood genius.

She smiles then, but it’s different from all her earlier ones….it was shy, girlier.

“One thing, though….” Draco begins, frowning as he realizes one part of her tale didn’t make sense. “How did you know I wasn’t attracted to you?”

Luna, uncharacteristically, does not meet his eyes when she answers.

“Well, I still had a sense of smell, and knew mine was rather unpleasant. But besides that, your pupils never dilated while looking at me and your chest never moved quicker to indicate a raised heart rate,” she says quietly, twirling a long lock of golden hair around her forefinger.

“Forget being a navigator, you need to be a detective,” Draco compliments, somewhat actually serious.

Luna gives him a small smile, but continues to look resolutely at the corner.

Draco too looks at where she’s staring, but finds nothing.

“Do you see a crumple horned snowman or something?” Draco finally asks, growing a bit peeved at the fact that she suddenly refuses to look at him. Did he get horribly sunburnt during his impromptu nap? A quick touch to his cheek tells him no, his skin wasn’t red and peeling.

“If only,” Luna sighs. She finally looks at him, and Draco can’t help but lean in towards her. Their ‘dip’ into the ocean had mostly cleaned her of the grime and blood that had coated her, and Draco can say with ease that she really is a beautiful woman-too beautiful to be married to the ocean.

“It’s just…” Luna whispers, before trailing off uncertainly.

“Tell me,” Draco says soothingly, placing his large tanned hand over her much smaller one. The softness of her skin contrasted so starkly to the brittle sand that surrounded them.

“Your pupils have dilated, and your chest is moving up and down quicker than earlier,” Luna confesses, her cheeks beginning to take on a pink tint.

Draco can’t help but smile devilishly at this.

“Can you blame me? I like my women beautiful and intelligent.”

Luna blushes once more and Draco remembers with glee that there’s only one bed.

[akaanonymouth]

Things I’m Working On...

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever…

I’ve not been tagged, but I was making a list of things I’m writing because I’m driving myself insane opening 43 docs and forgetting what idea/ story/ whatever goes where and then spending more time reading and cutting things than actually writing so…. what better place to make a note! (It may be a loooong note! I mean, like, I’m talking through my ideas here because nothing’s actually finished, so feel free to wither jump in and provide input, or just keep scrolling now!) Berena

Berena and the Fletchlings: As you may know, one little “Berena dancing in the kitchen” idea escalated into a 7,000odd word fluff fest involving the Fletchlings, then Berena took them all swimming, and now my brain seems to insist on inserting some Fletchling interaction at almost every opportunity, so I named it a series, and since I named it a series, I haven’t managed to finish a single idea, haha!  But, here’s what I got in the pipeline: (Actually I will put this under a cut to save people’s dashes, because I have a lot of ideas to work through and I’ve apparently lost a verbal filter alongside gaining a mental health issue, who knew! Sorry! Anyhoo:

-Evie’s Birthday:  She wants to attend a festival. Fletch is dead set against it, Evie’s obviously having a meltdown, so is Fletch, Serena steps in. Decides to throw a mini fest in her house/ garden, and gets most Holby staff involved. Bernie convinces Charlotte to come, because Charlotte can play guitar and sing, and Elinor is also persuaded, because she can sing and play piano and Serena’s set up a gazebo like a stage, but there’s also a piano in the living room, and it turns out Bernie can also play the piano because have you seen her hands?! Anyway, they have mad fun all day, Ric and Sacha do an ‘oldie’ set, etc etc. I’ll stop there with all the details otherwise no one will want to read it when it finally gets done properly! But it’ll include Bernie and Serena dancing, to new and old songs, and Ellie is all like “eww” but Evie’s all moon-eyes and explains what she sees to Ellie, and Charlotte is persuaded by Cam to play an acoustic version of his favourite song and…. basically a lot of Bernie and Serena  eye sex, slow dancing in bubbles they create for themselves, and Evie just being crazy about her OTP. I haven’t decided yet if Berena are established, or whether it should be another sort of “intervention/ dawning realisation” type thing, so if anyone wants to add their thoughts, or message me for more details, PLEASE feel free to! 

- Bra shopping: I was going to keep the “fletchlings” series relatively angst-free, but this one, canon-compliant with Elinor’s death, is bugging me. Serena promises to take Evie bra shopping; does take Evie bra shopping on the following Saturday. Bernie goes with them. It’s Mother’s Day the next day, and they see shops full of Mother’s Day paraphernalia etc. They have a lovely time shopping but towards the end, melancholy/ anger/ grief sets in, so Bernie does little things to keep them in the here and now, not really knowing what else to do. When they’re heading home, they detour through the park, and come across Mikey in an altercation with a few other older boys. They’re picking on him, and Bernie steps in (BMAM!) and they start to take the piss, but she sends them off, then Mikey turns his anger onto her, and she encourages him (a bit like the speech she gave Serena in the toilets) and he fights her; breaks down; they head back to Serena’s. There’s silent cuddles, angst, but loving. Etc and all that. 

- The as-yet-wholly-unformed-idea whereupon Evie still wants to move in with Serena, is in love with Berena, as in, the actual ship, as well as them as individuals, and loves spending time with them. She’s made aware that maybe she is intruding, so she tries not to encroach so much, but Bernie messages her asking if she wants to go to the cinema one night, and she just… Yeah, The One Where Evie is the Berena Fandom Incarnate (and gets to bask in their presence for weekends at a time). May tie this in with the drabble I wrote about Evie giving Serena a friendship bracelet after Elinor died, with green for Bernie weaved through it, then she does the same for Bernie.

If anyone has any Berena + Fletchlings ideas they’d like to see written, pop me a line, and I’ll try my best :)

Untitled WIP:

1) Comedy of sorts. Half the hospital staff are sick to the back teeth of Serena and Bernie tiptoeing around each other, because please, as much as they both liked to preach from their pedestals that they were only being professional and didn’t want the hospital, the trauma unit, AAU, the patients, the bloody agency nurse who turned up now and again to suffer, suffer they were. Especially those that kept stumbling into the middle of serious eye fucking sessions and half-finished sentences. It had to stop.  In which Zosia’s taken it upon herself to be Bernie’s fairy godmother (and if she gets a good few snogs out of Jac along the way, all the better), and the staff come up with, frankly, ludicrous ways to get B&S together, even employing Mrs. B as a seductress. Why no one just talked to Jason, I don’t know…

2) If Holby writers can steal Doctors on The Roof from ER, then I can steal Stinky the dog from it, and give him a storyline with Serena and Bernie. (Or, The One where Serena gains a dog and a Wolfe). Kerry Weaver ended up taking home a dog called Stinky from a tramp that died, and I’ve apparently based a whole story on that idea. Also I love Kerry Weaver.)

3) In which Serena loses the point of Texas Hold ‘Em because she’s too busy wondering what Texas holds, exactly? Bernie tells her to add it to her Google list….. And I’ve lost the plot a bit with this one, but Im sure it’ll come back (or it is already here, trapped in the wrong document!)

3) Smut fic. Pure smut. There is nothing but smut. I mean, at a push, it could be described as character exploration through sexual situations, character development via sex…. basically I’m just writing a multi-chap fic about Serena and Bernie having sex in the here-and-now, and harking back to various ‘first-time’s’ as it comes up in their conversation.  (Can I work “fight on your feet or die on your knees” into this? I think I can. I can see Serena saying this.) 4) Smut fic. Yes, like the above. But, I found I was thinking about their lives post-Elinor death, and what impacts that would have. This is a bit darker. Not harrowing, and with as happy ending as anyone could have with a dead child, but still, dark enough to warrant being a separate story.

5) The obligatory stuck-in-a-lift-fic that I have never written for any of my OTPs before, so feel it’s beyond time that I give it a go. Mingling it with the “sweaty, vigorous passion” episode, substituting Raf for Bernie :) 

6) Angst. In which Bernie uses Jason to determine Serena’s mental state, because whatever is happening, Serena does not lie to Jason.  Wrote the idea for this when Elinor first died, so I don’t know if I’ll finish. Just a one-shot, to try to explain to myself where their relationship was, where Bernie’s level of concern was at, at the time.

7) After a whole day of being majorly, ridiculously excited about the post, I am writing a perfume-based story haha!

8) I’m not technically working on this one, because I don’t watch Dr Who religiously, and I’m not a massive, massive fan, but I couldn’t get rid of this thought: Serena is all bitter and sad, and Kate Stewart turns up like “Somewhere in your memory is a woman called Bernie Wolfe….” In order to be happy and save herself (and Holby or the world, if that’s your bag) Serena must remember Bernie, must remember her timeline for her actual reality to realign again, because Bernie is Serena’s soulmate, but not only that, Bernie and Serena’s relationship has a direct impact on Kate’s lineage (or something, it’s all about the timey-wimey shit that I haven’t figured out) and so Serena absolutely has to remember that Bernie was wiped from her memory, because it’s the only thing that’ll bring her back.  I’m probably never going to even attempt to start this one, but I would read the shit out of it if anyone could do it?!

9) I nearly forgot about this one!  Actresses AU. Whereupon Serena and Bernie, and the rest of the cast, are the actors in a medical drama. Serena and Bernie’s story remains theirs, but there are eerie similarities between them and their character storylines. Bernie remains married for much longer, her character is written out of the show they play in for an indefinite amount of time because she does a moonlight flit, etc. Angst, slow burn. Not entirely sure how this will play out; it’s one I think I’d like to finish completely before posting.

Aaaand I’ll end there. Maybe I’ll do a separate post for the HP, DWP and ER fics that I’ve either temporarily (does 7 years count as temporary?!) abandoned,  completely lost, or thought so much about that I think they already exist and am horrifically surprised when they do not (hello, me Voyager fics, too, haha!)

Not tagging anyone, but I’m always grateful to read what other people are up to! God bless anyone that’s made it this far!